


Fallen

by junipersand



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angels and Demons AU, No Romance, No shipping theyre platonic soulmates nothing wrong about that, hehe op skephalo goes brr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand
Summary: Everyone knows Skeppy and Bad can't take anything seriously when they're together. They share one singular brain cell, and it's always playing the same Wii music on loop.Sometimes people forget they're feared for a reason.
Relationships: Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 48
Kudos: 647





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine is going to kill them all. Sapnap knows it, Dream knows it; everybody knows it. But what if there was a chance they could survive? Or to be more specific: two chances that they might make it out alive?

It’s been weeks since he was plunged into a world of blood and fire.

It’s been weeks since they lost hope of returning to their homes.

Sapnap clutched his bleeding arm, gritting his teeth as he glowered down to the very villains who stripped him of his dignity and respect. Arrows protruded from his back, metal tips squirming in his flesh as he tensed, but he didn’t turn to care. He had no _time_ to, because the quote, _Godly Beings_ had finally shown themselves to him; the same bastards that chose to bring them into this hell of a world.

Trapped in a paradox that wasn’t their home, far from the land they lived in harmony. Instead of meadows and animals, there were wither roses and skeletons. Instead of laughing villagers and satisfied bellies, there were rotting corpses and broken villages. Even with his pain gnawing away at his consciousness, he found the will to glare at the villain of his story, eyes squinting to blink dark spots from his vision.

“What do you want, bitch?” Sapnap spat on the ground. His saliva was mixed with dirt and blood. “Here to apologize and grovel for my forgiveness?”

The entity chuckled, its voice hissy like a snake’s. Sapnap wanted to rip that tongue off and throw its ashes into the abyss where it would do no more harm.

“You amuse me, mortal,” Herobrine mused. “Which is why I will keep you alive for longer.” His eyes glowed bright white, provoked by the amusement that was Sapnap—humans were forever below gods like him, and it was a fact that remained throughout the centuries.

Sapnap scowled. “Return my friends, you piece of shit.”

Rage burned in his stomach. Sapnap’s body urged him to fall to his knees, curl up in a corner and cry for his pain. He wanted to lie on the floor and weep for his grief and scream for his sorrow. For days, he dwelled the land full of monsters and enemies without anything to his name.

To make things worse, this _beast_ has his friends. They’d been separated ever since _he_ showed up.

“I have yet to harm them.” Herobrine’s tone was neutral. Floating in air, arms crossed as he kicked his legs into the sky, he didn’t have much to worry about. Humans were weak and disposable. They couldn’t do anything to a god like him even if he wanted to. “In fact, I will be generous.”

He snapped his fingers. The clear, piercing snap echoed in Sapnap’s ringing ears, bringing his attention back to the world around him. Sapnap’s head ached, but his eyes blinked furiously as he recognized the familiar forms stumbling onto the grassy floor, all scrambling for closure as their limbs flailed wildly.

Among all of them, a scream was especially noticeable. A shriek that was notoriously deafness-inducing, one so high-pitched that it could only belong to one person.

“George?” Dream called, frantic and desperate. He looked around in panic, until his gaze settled onto the brunet and ravennette standing close to him. “Sapnap! George!”

George shot towards Dream’s voice. “DREAM?” he screeched. “What? What is happening?”

In a flash, Dream tackled George into a bear hug, pushing them both to the ground. Sapnap stared at them, warmth rising in his chest, which soon cooled as he realized that the god still remained with them. His heart steeled as he did his best to observe the white-eyed god while he counted his friends, all disorientated, some out cold, but they were alive.

Not all of them.

Wilbur’s head was hung low, his body shaking as he held Fundy’s bloodied body close to him, searching for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. Sapnap could see the glistening tears contrast on his dust-caked face and hair, and how he bit his lip so hard that blood trickled down his chin.

Vurb and Finn’s eyes were wide, their horrified expressions frozen after death. Their clothes were melted onto their skin, a sickly shade of green and purple sticking on their flesh. They found each other after their separation, only for them to die together.

Three.

Three too many.

Sapnap stared blankly at the ring of people that suddenly appeared. They were all people he knows, but some of them already passed on way before everyone else. Most sobbed and grieved over the loss of their friends, falling to their knees, taking off hats and burying their faces in respect.

All the while Herobrine watched, his lips curled into a smug grin.

“Is that everyone?” George asked, choking on his own words. Despite their reunion, they were forced to face realities and opened truths, no matter how vile and revolting.

Sapnap caught the frown in the god’s face, realization slowly dawning on him as they realized that there were people who escaped his grasp. Not one, but two people who managed to escape this sick game of his, and avoid his control. So much for being the supreme ruler of them.

“No. Oh no,” TapL wisped, horror dawning on his face. He held his sides tighter, crinkling his trademark dual-colored hoodie. “Where’s Bad and Skeppy?”

* * *

“That’s him, Bad.” Skeppy leaned backwards onto a tree, his hands thrust in his jacket as he closed his eyes. “After a hundred years, that bastard has the audacity to show up and harass our friends.”

There was a floating image levitating in the air, like a mirror without glass. The rim glowed bright blue, framed by a magical mist. It depicted a live scene of the godlike being and their friends, all gathered in one singular place.

Bad reached to his hood and lowered it in respect. He wasn’t blind to the bodies laying on the floor; and despite having met many humans before them, their deaths wounded him most particularly. He’d taken the time to know them, befriend them, and he’s sure Skeppy felt the same. Skeppy turned silent as soon as he saw the lifeless corpses.

 _Herobrine_. A name they haven’t heard in a century. An exiled archangel rejected by both heaven and hell themselves. He belonged in neither world and remained in the plane between, escaping the gazes of the higher entities in both worlds. He was no god. He was no demon. He lived forever, but he was still reduced to nothing more than _human_.

Skeppy’s fists clenched in his pocket. “We’re ending that narcissist.”

“Yeah,” Bad agreed. They rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially during clutching times like these, but neither of them had qualms in ending a scum’s life the same way he ended their friends’.

In Skeppy’s hand, a blade of pure diamond appeared in his grasp. When he opened his eyes, they were the color of a clear sky, glowing with magic and power.

“He messed with the wrong gods.”

* * *

TapL swallowed, sweat trickling down his forehead as he stared at the hovering man, worry sprouting in his throat. Herobrine, as he called himself, was looking through magical screens around him, searching for their missing friends. Not because he cared about their wellbeing, but it was because they dared challenge his power by hiding from his hold.

With every ticking second, he prayed that Skeppy and Bad won’t be found. But at the same time, he grew anxious that their disappearance was caused by another disaster—perhaps a death so horrendous that there was nothing left of their bodies. Maybe they fell in lava. Maybe they were eaten alive by spiders or zombies. The more he thought about their fates, the more he wanted to fall to his knees and scream.

As of now, no news meant good news. Maybe they’ve found a way out of this hellhole. Or maybe they’ve been kidnapped to another world the second time and is now suffering from an eternity of Friday by Rebecca Black. Now TapL’s just rambling, but he’s too far down the rabbit hole to stop himself.

“They’ll be okay,” George muttered. “They’re more than skilled and they can handle themselves just fine. Even more so when they have each other.”

Despite the somber atmosphere, Dream couldn’t help but scoff. “Skeppy and Bad?” He shook his head. “There’s no way they could work with each other. They can’t even stop themselves from arguing every three minutes.”

It was a joke, and they all knew it. But somehow, it lost its luster and it seemed more of a devastated vent than anything else. Unlike everyone else here, their fates were unknown, and there’s nothing else that scared Dream more than the fact of not knowing. The man’s always confident in his decisions only when he’s familiar with his surroundings. Take him to a land far from their reality, and he’ll descend into an utter mess of madness.

If it wasn’t for Sapnap and George keeping him grounded for their first few days, TapL was sure that he would have died.

Techno gritted his teeth. He was quiet throughout the whole endeavor. “Maybe if we dance Tik Toks loud enough, he’ll let us go.”

“Or maybe if we could get Wilbur to diss Dream,” TapL crabbed. “They started wars while we’re doing talent shows. To be honest, I’d rather deal with Vurb than—” He caught himself, feeling his eyes mist up and bile rising at the back of his mouth. _The Talent Show_. It was only a month ago, but it felt as if it’s been years. He and his friends put up outlandish performances that would scar the average person for life, but it was the only time they all gathered together and had some fun.

Now that most of them were gone, that joke of a talent show would become a bittersweet memory. A reminder of what he had lost. Their laughing faces would be reduced to an image in his mind. He would forget the sound of their voices and laughter as he grew older.

That is, if he survived long enough to.

TapL turned from Techno and pressed his eyes to the back of his palm. He would grieve and cry for the dead, but he would never bow down to the man who caused those very deaths.

* * *

“Do you trust yourself to teleport all of them here without him tracking us?” Skeppy glanced at his friend. “Or are you out of practice?”

Bad shot him a look. “He’s older than us, Skep. He knows more about magic than we do, god or not. The best I could do for now is letting us escape his watch.” He frowned. “I bet he’s not even trying to look for us. I doubt he cares about mere mortals.”

“Yeah, and we’re not _mere mortals_.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

Skeppy scowled. “Well, he’s about to, because I’m sick of listening to this guy ramble about his greatness every three seconds.”

“If we fight him there, we could hurt our friends.”

“Have you forgotten what we could do?”

Bad fell silent.

Skeppy turned to him. His expression was one of conflict and spite. “We helped humans cheat death once. We can do it again.” His face darkened. “I’m sure they won’t mind the great Wrath stealing a few human souls. Heck, I doubt Heaven will care if one of their best Archangels overwrite some rulebooks.”

Bad’s face fell along . “You’re not the best, Skeppy.”

“Yes, I am!”

“You were declared one only ten years ago! You invited me to your coronation!”

“It’s all about the skill, Bad. Time means nothing! Besides—” Skeppy turned towards the forest, pointing his sword to the end. If they were to head over, they’d see their friends and that white-eyed bastard. “These are our friends. We _have_ to.”

A guttural scream boomed in the air, and they knew they had no more time.

* * *

“SAPNAP!”

Sapnap wished he could respond to his friends’ calls, but he couldn’t. There was a hand around his throat, his windpipe being crushed. His hands were on the bastard’s, desperately trying to unclamp his hold, but failing. Legs kicking in the air, dark spots dancing in his vision, he knew he was done for. Primal fear spread through his body, his mind desperately searching for ways to escape death, but there was none.

 _I don’t want to die_.

It was a sad end for him, and somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew it. The situation was so sad, it was almost humorous. The next thing he knew, they would be getting chased by Dream in a strawberry dress.

_“SAPNAP!!”_

Sapnap’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Just before an angel descended from the skies.

* * *

Herobrine turned just in time to be faced with a sword to his face. He raised his arms in instinct, expecting to block the attack with ease, but the opposite turned out to be true. The blade cleanly sliced through his arm, severing his limb from now a stump of an elbow, blood splattering onto the sky-blue wings of his attacker.

Skeppy didn’t have a usual remark on his lips. He was out for blood. If he could make god bleed, people will cease to believe in him. Herobrine wasn’t a god like him; the crimson blood that dripped from his wounds was proof. Instead, he raised his sword once more, and brought it down to the exiled angel.

“You!” Herobrine scorned, teleporting right behind Skeppy in fury. “You’re an angel, aren’t you? So why are you opposed to me?”

Skeppy lurched to the right as a torrent of fire flew past him. He could feel the heat singing his feathers.

“Because you’re one sick fuck, that’s why.” He raised his sword again, the weapon glowing white.

On the ground, everyone stared at the sudden turn of events, their eyes wide as they stared at their friend who suddenly gained wings. Though, Dream and George’s eyes weren’t on the fight, but rather, on the limp corpse of their friend.

George held Sapnap close, tears falling freely down his eyes. His goggles were discarded, the frame cracked and glass shattered. He cried for his friend’s untimely death, and so did Dream. Dream was quiet— _too_ quiet—but his fists were clenched and his back hunched.

Sapnap didn’t respond to any of their calls because he couldn’t.

“Hey, hey!” a familiar voice boomed, but they didn’t turn. Their world was drowning with the loss of their dear friend. “Over here! Come on!”

Their other friends shuffled towards the voice, but they remained where they were. They didn’t have the capacity to handle any more surprises. But it wasn’t an option, it turned out, as hands fell firmly on George and Dream’s shoulders to get their attention.

Dream shot towards the hand’s owner. “Bad?” He blinked, cracked mask falling to the ground. His eyes were red and puffy. “Is that you?” George yelped in surprise, but it came out as a choke.

Bad nodded in exasperation. “We have to go, you muffinheads. Bring Sapnap along. I promise everything’s going to be okay.”

George didn’t know how he could promise that, especially with tragedies littering their stage like confetti. But as he rose to his feet, he only then noticed the battle in the sky, wilder than any war they’ve ever seen. Sword against magic, blow for blow. An angel was fighting the villain that terrorized their lives… and is that _Skeppy_?

Bad pushed George towards the darker parts of the forest. Dream was carrying Sapnap’s body on his back. “Come _on_!”

George sniffled and nodded, swiftly rushing past the man to follow the others. However, their little escapee didn’t go unnoticed, as a furious roar echoed in the air, “NO!” followed by a blast of lightning, heading straight towards George. Bad stepped in and shoved George aside just before the magic hit, taking the full force of the electricity without so much of a flinch.

Blinded by the lightning, George could only scream for his friend. Somewhere, through his ringing ears, he could hear the others doing the same. Every hair on George’s body stood on their ends, static crawling through every bit of hair and clothes he had. Nothing mattered. Nothing did. The only thing he could think of was his friend’s fate, now that he joined so many others—

He felt a worryingly warm hand clamp around his wrist instead, yanking him towards his friends. George screamed again.

“Calm down!” Bad’s voice snapped, more irritated than dead. “Everything’s okay. Just listen to me.”

“BAD?” George shrieked. Is Bad alive? Or did they both die and Bad’s leading him down the path to hell?

“I don’t die that easy, you muffinhead.” George felt his wrist being released. He was still blinded, but his vision began returning. He blinked rapidly, trying to get the white screen off his eyes. He heard more gasps and screams, but none of them belonged to their dead friends. He felt bad for being relieved that he didn’t hear them.

When George’s vision was restored, however, he wished it hadn’t.

Half of Bad’s face was obsidian black, like a messy patch of paint that melted into his skin. The eye that overlapped with the black was pure white, almost like—

 _Herobrine_.

George screamed again.

Bad flicked his finger on George’s forehead. “What did I just say?”

George stared at Bad like he was a ghost. Well, he looked like something that was _worse_ than a ghost. As seconds passed, Bad’s skin turned pitch black, his green eyes fading to nothing. The horns on his hood turned real, pitch black that matched his void-like body.

If Bad grew wings, George would scream.

Then three pairs of scarlet wings sprouted from his back, just like the devil’s.

George would’ve screamed if it wasn’t for Dream clamping his mouth shut.

“I can’t help it,” Bad admitted. “I apologize if this scares you, but what I’m about to do is going to be worse.”

He wasn’t open for critiques, either. Bad crouched next to Sapnap and Fundy, putting his gloved hands on their foreheads. He closed his eyes and chanted in a language no one recognized. Abruptly, his eyelids snapped open, and his eyes glowed bright white as their bodies began to light up like a glowstick.

Hands reached through Sapnap and Fundy’s chests, like the undead crawling back to the world of air and life. It was as if the souls were climbing through a hole from hell and back to the land of the living. First, it was their hands, then heads, then their torsos—until finally, the ghosts of Sapnap and Fundy collapsed on the floor right next to their bodies, panting and looking around in shock.

People screamed. This time, it wasn’t George.

Dream pounced at Sapnap, despite the younger barely catching his senses, but he was shocked to them as the blond landed right next to him, his body phasing through the ghost.

“AHH! DREAM!” Sapnap shouted, stumbling away from the other. He bumped into Fundy’s ghost, who was running from Wilbur, Tubbo and Tommy. “OW! What the fuck, man?”

Bad sighed, having finished pulling Vurb and Finn’s souls from their bodies. The same thing that happened to Fundy and Sapnap happened again, only this time with a crossdresser and a toe-licker.

“This is all I can do,” he said sadly. “Until Skeppy heals their bodies, they can’t return.”

No one bothered to question. They were too disorientated and exhausted.

“Anyway.” Bad pointed his thumb to the exit nonchalantly. Behind him, they saw Skeppy crashing to the ground, his body digging a dirt trail along the forest floor. “Skeppy needs my help. I promise we’ll explain everything after this is over, okay?”

No one nodded, but he left anyways.

As they watched Bad pry Herobrine off Skeppy and pummel him into a tree, Fundy finally regained his senses and had the audacity and braincell to say:

“What the _fuck_ just happened?”

* * *

“Give it up, trash,” Skeppy spat, now holding a diamond axe instead of a sword. He stood over Herobrine, who was left twitching on the ground, his body sparking with poison and magic. “You’re a lost cause.”

Herobrine hissed, still finding the energy to glare at the two immortals that bested him. Their forms were restored to resemble humans, but their eyes were still blue and blank like the immortals that hid under human skin. “An angel and a demon?” he growled. “That is not possible. You two should be fighting each other, not _me_.”

Bad shrugged, turning to Skeppy. “Skeppyyyyy,” he sang, dragging out the last syllable in the angel’s name. “I don’t like him.”

Skeppy shook his head, shaking dirt and leaves from his hair. “For once, I agree with you.”

Side by side, the duo raised their hands. Lightning boomed in the sky and the ground quaked with dark fractures. Then, at once, they brought their power down upon the villain, and the paradox he created was shattered into a million shards.

* * *

“I don’t wannaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Skeppy cried, flailing his limbs around as he threw the biggest hissy fit ever known to mankind. “But I just wanted SAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNND!”

Bad groaned, trying to calm the other. “Come on, Skeppy. Vurb and the others still need to go back to their bodies.”

“BUT I WANT SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!”

“You can— _why_ do you even want sand? Is this another prank you’re going to pull on me?”

“STOOPID!”

From the outside of Skeppy’s room, Tommy and Wilbur could only exchange looks as they listened to the duo bicker for another hour. Just kidding. It’s only been five minutes, but it _felt_ like an hour.

Eventually, Skeppy emerged from his room with a very evident slap on his face. He still dragged himself to the four corpses lined up in his living room, and began chanting the same gibberish that they heard Bad use before. In an instant, the bodies were healed and the wounds closed, almost like they never died to begin with. The four ghosts, haven’t expected this, screamed as they were forcibly dragged back into their bodies. Finn was busy testing out intangibility, with half his body sticking through the wall.

“There!” Skeppy brushed his hands, glaring at Bad. “You happy?” Vurb shot upwards and his forehead hit Techno in where the sun don’t shine. Both of them screamed in higher pitches than George.

Bad nodded. His arms were crossed. “Very, Skeppy.” His face froze as he noticed the floor’s condition. “The carpet!” He mourned his dirtied carpet, now stained with dried blood and whatever came out of a human’s body. “NO! How are we going to explain this to the dry cleaner’s?”

“Excuse me,” Fundy interjected, very much uncomfortable and squirming from Wilbur’s bear hug. “We just died, and you care more about your _fucking_ carpet than—”

“LANGUAGE!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bad & Skeppy:** *aggressively tapping the table*
> 
>  **TapL:** What are they doing?
> 
>  **Mega:** _(written on a piece of paper)_ "They're using Morse code"
> 
>  **Skeppy, angrily:** -.-- --- ..- .-. / -- ..- ..-. ..-. .. -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.-
> 
>  **Bad:** *slams the table* YOU TAKE THAT BACK!
> 
> Or: Skeppy and Bad share one braincell, and nobody understands what they're saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -.-- --- ..- .-. / -- ..- ..-. ..-. .. -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- means "Your muffins suck."

Finn’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, but there was something definitely off with two of his closest friends.

One being they shared the weirdest of interests, where they would find entertainment in just about anywhere. If he would place them in front of a wall and tell them to watch paint dry, they would find at least thirty ways to argue and bicker about the consistency of said paint. He knows this because they did this for a bet (the pool was a week’s worth of hot chocolate, so you know Skeppy’s going to go all out for some of that) and they outlasted everybody, including the paint. By the time they stopped talking, the paint was completely dry.

The next was that they would talk in more than one language. Finn is certain that they themselves don’t even realize the change in their tongue. He realized this too late as Skeppy shrieked at Bad from across the house, which earned another scream from the demon right back. Before, he assumed that they were creating nonsensical voices and garbles that only the other understood due to their bond. Now, it was a completely different story. The more he listened, the more words he could make out, albeit a foreign language.

As of now, when Skeppy hosted a sleepover for the group they called the Idots—which he misspelt _Idiots_ , but no one found the heart to correct his spelling anymore—the crowd sat in the living room, staring at the pair barking at each other.

Bad threw his hands into the air. _“You’re the biggest muffin I’ve ever met in my life! Did no one ever tell you that?”_

 _“Well, I’m not the one who’s struggling with a cocaine addiction,”_ Skeppy snarked right back.

 _“Skeppy, you know that’s not true!”_ He whirled to Zelkam, who had the unfortunate luck of sitting in the closest proximity to the demon. _“Tell him, Zelk! Tell him he’s being a muffinhead.”_

Bad’s arms were crossed, as if expecting defense to come to his aid, but he was met with silence. Skeppy burst into laughter as Bad’s cheeks colored with embarrassment.

To Finn’s ears, they were talking gibberish. So it undoubtedly confused the lot when Bad abruptly pointed to Zelkam which was soon followed by Skeppy’s infamous mocking howl. Now that their arguments began to escalate, his senses pricked as a new language was spoken from their tongue, one completely different from the one they’d just heard. There were some familiar words here and there, presumably an insult from the first dialect, but its frequent use must mean that it was an insult.

 _“Oh my goodness.”_ Bad pulled at his hair. _“You need to stop. We can’t keep arguing like this. We have guests over.”_

Skeppy snorted. _“I’m sure they won’t mind.”_ He then changed to English, but Finn’s no longer sure whether if he’s doing it on purpose or not. _With Skeppy and Bad, you can never tell what they’re thinking_ – infamous quote by Dream, who was always hunted down by Bad during his oh-so entertaining manhunts. “Do you, guys?”

TapL looked up from polishing his iron sword, shocked. “Uh, do we—um…” He glanced at the others, who were equally surprised as him. “No?” It was the only safe response when it came to Skeppy. If he said anything otherwise, they could end up under a massive pile of marshmallow slop, which by the way, is also speaking from experience. TapL remembered having to scrub his scalp for three hours because it wouldn’t get out of his hair. By the time it was over, his head was salmon pink and he used a week’s worth of warm water. It was a fun day having to explain what happened to his roommates.

Skeppy turned to Bad with his chin high, triumphing over his friend. “See?” he hollered. “They don’t mind! _You’re just being too sensitive, Bad_.”

There he goes again, switching languages and expecting everyone to understand him.

“When will you stop whining at each other?” Vurb cut in, picking at the couch’s linen. “Some of us don’t speak your love language. Would you stop flirting for three seconds?”

Bad and Skeppy whipped to him so quick that Mega almost fell off his seat in shock. “What the FUCK, Vurb?” Skeppy demanded, cheeks red from his argument. “It’s not our fault that you have toes instead of brains.”

“Language!”

“Who are you to stop me, huh, Bad?”

They continued arguing for the rest of the night. Sure, they did stop for a moment while they were separated when they were playing non-lethal bedwars, but Skeppy made it virtually impossible for peace and quiet to happen. At least, as much peace and quiet when everyone is trying to destroy your home bed. No matter what game they were in, it was a guarantee that Bad would be the first loss, and Skeppy taking the first win.

It happened so much that the others just let it happen. Trying to protect Bad from Skeppy’s wrath was always a lost cause.

It’s only in PvP, right? Surely, they would calm down and chill out when they’re doing some casual things like fishing and boating. Wrong. So wrong. If there was a prize for the biggest idiot of the century, whoever thought so would win it by a landslide and would be too dumb to even know they won. Bad and Skeppy shared the same boat, but Bad would deliberately ram it into the bank to throw Skeppy into the waters. Skeppy cursed and pulled Bad into the water in him. Just because they wear matching ducksuits doesn’t meant they’re good at swimming.

Also, Skeppy caught a salmon and cooked it right in front of Bad. Nobody felt the slightest shred of pity when the brunet dyed Skeppy’s clothes orange.

To top it all off, there came the game night, where everyone just chilled and played board games like Duopoly and NOU.

Worst. Idea. Of. The. Century.

Ever.

“BAD, STOP GIVING ME MORE FUCKING CARDS!” _(“Ahh, language!”)_

“GEPPY, I WILL BREAK YOUR LEGS IF YOU RAISE THE RENT—SKEPPY!” _(“HAHA, BADBOYNOOB!”)_

“SELL. ME. THAT. STUPID. JAIL. CARD.” _(“Only if you say please, you potato!”)_

“Skeppy, I swear—if you mixed hair dye in my shampoo again—” _(No one dared say a word to Bad’s face as he fixed up supper for everyone, sporting newly dyed bright orange hair. Mega thinks that Skeppy died of laughter and has ascended into the third realm.)_

The week went by and it gave Finn more questions than answers. He’d assumed that Skeppy and Bad lived at each other’s throats and wouldn’t hesitate to put poison in the other’s tea. Instead, they wouldn’t hesitate to tell each other _I love you_ and tuck each other into their beds after a day of arguing. It’s like the chaotic equivalent of homies, like _two dudes chilling in a hot tub, no feet apart but they’re not gay because they’re homiesexual._ TapL has learned to accept it and space out whenever the two are locked in eternal combat.

“Thanks for staying over!” Bad said cheerily, walking them to the door. “We had a great time. Have a safe journey back home.”

“Get out, losers!” Skeppy scorched, slamming the door behind Bad.

Bad whipped around. “Skeppy, what the fudge is wrong with you?” He banged on the door with his fist, but it was locked. The group left awkwardly as the sound of a door getting abused echoed in their ears.

Well, at least they weren’t using their powers for evil, that’s for sure.

* * *

 _You’re my best friend, Zak_.

* * *

“Hello, Bad.”

“Hello, Sapnap.”

George sighed and rubbed his eyes, nudging his goggles upwards. It’s barely been a minute since they met, and he could already tell that this was going to be a fun ride. If there’s anything he learned from their collective friendship, it’s to never let Bad and Sapnap stay in the same room together if you wanted a peaceful day. At the exact moment their eyes met, you can kiss any silence and serenity you’ve enjoyed for the past hour goodbye.

When he turned to Dream, the blond had his hands stuffed into his jean pockets, lip twitching as if he’s already gotten used to their bickering but never got over the habit of frowning whenever it happened. Old habits die hard but Skeppy and Bad’s habits were immune to the sweet, cold embrace of death.

“Sorry about the mess,” Bad apologized, opening the door for their home. “The gang just left, so we’re a bit low on cleanliness morale. I’ll get it fixed up soon, though, so don’t you muffins worry about anything. If you need anything, feel free to ask – just make sure not to touch Skeppy’s armor and weapons, okay? He gets really defensive about it.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dream tucked stray hairs behind his ear. “Are we intruding? If it’s too much for you, we can book an inn nearby and stay there for now.”

“No, it’s alright!” Bad swept behind the trio and pushed them in, almost causing George to stumble. Despite their collective weight and balance, he tipped their core center without even trying. It was like he didn’t realize the extent of his own strength and was treating it as a regular day basis.

Dream groaned. “Bad, I’m serious—”

“And I’m serious too, you muffin!” The door shut behind them. “You all have important events next week. Something about a championship, was it?”

“The MCC, Mandatory Cardinal Championships, actually.”

“Yeah, that. Anyways, I’ll start cleaning up. Make yourselves comfortable!”

George pursed his lip and looked around the house. Skeppy and Bad didn’t live in a mansion, but it was decently large. Maybe it was just him, but the living room and the kitchen next to it looked spotless. That or Bad was a neat freak. After knowing the man for so long and witnessing his brutal transformation into some otherworldy being, the man being a hypersensitive dust police wasn’t the weirdest thing he would know him as.

But when he turned to Bad, who’d gone strangely silent, it turned out _he_ hadn’t anticipated this either. His green eyes were wide as he practically sprinted upstairs, barely taking off his socks in the house.

A loud knocking echoed throughout the walls, followed by an extremely irritated _WHAT_.

“Did you clean the house, Geppy?”

“Yes I did, Bad! I can be productive for once whenever you’re out doing the man’s work!”

“Thank—hey, Skeppy, that’s sexist!”

Another door slam boomed, and Bad raced downstairs and eagerly invited them to the guest room. They made sure to be extra quiet when they passed by a door with a “No Bald Guys” note sloppily glued on it. Though, when Sapnap asked quietly, _what if Skeppy turns bald then? Is he going to ban himself from his own room?_ , Dream wheezed so hard he nearly fell over.

The guest room was simple but cozy. Abut as cozy as it can get when you can hear Bad screaming in the room over and Skeppy knocking his door down. It made Sapnap and George’s arguments look tame in comparison. At least they don’t argue about the pattern of their doormat because it turned pink when one of them accidentally mixed in colours with the whites. George has a lot of questions and he knows none of them are going to get answered.

“Hey, Geeeeeeeeorge,” Dream cooed, grinning flirtatiously. “There’s only two beds,” he hummed, pointing to the sleeping arrangements, “and there’s three of us.”

George regarded him icily. He slung his bag over his shoulder and swung the door open. “I’m going to sleep in Bad’s room for the week. I don’t trust either of you.”

He slammed the door in Sapnap’s face.

George then spent the next few hours camping in Bad’s room as they played cards to pass time. Bad was crap at disguising his intentions, so he lost nearly every round. He did win when they were playing chess—every time, as a matter of fact—which surprised George. For someone who can’t keep his calm whenever someone’s hand hovered over the joker, he was shockingly good at strategy. Maybe even better than Dream, but maybe that’s just because they know each other’s tactics by heart. They didn’t spend much time with Bad after they moved out from this village.

Meanwhile, Dream and Sapnap entertained themselves by whacking each other with their pillows. However, when Dream’s pillow exploded with feathers, they knew they fucked up. They were in the midst of panicking when Skeppy walked into their room, holding a cup of coffee each for them, that they decided that it was every man for himself.

“It’s Sapnap/Dream!”

Skeppy stared tiredly at the two, his jacket leaning back to his elbows, holding two cups of coffee in each hand as he processed the situation. There were bags under his eyes as if his energy was exhausted just by looking at them.

“Don’t tell Bad.” Skeppy sat the coffees on the table and went back to whatever hole he just came out from.

Dinner was simplistic, but it reminded George of how his life had been before he joined Dream and Sapnap to become an adventurer. On the table was roasted pork, mushroom stew, mashed potato, and steamed vegetables. George remembered how Bad was adamant about everyone getting their daily fiber intake, so he most likely hid at least three carrots or broccoli in everything. It didn’t matter, though, it was delicious.

It would be better if Sapnap and Skeppy would stop catapulting radish slices at each other. Bad got hit in the face once and acted like it never happened. Dream slammed his hand onto the table when a slice flew past his head, which startled nobody because they’re all seasoned assholes. (Except for Bad, of course, but he had the achievement of tolerating Skeppy in the same house.)

“Someone’s going to have to clean this up,” Bad mentioned nonchalantly, sipping stew from his spoon.

Sapnap waved his hand dismissively. “I can do it. I helped contribute to this mess, after all.” He flicked a chunk of mushroom at George. It flew straight onto the pane of his goggles and slid down like some flattened cartoon character.

Skeppy snorted and finished the last of his food. “I’m done!” he declared, jittering like a hyperactive toddler. “Can I have dessert now?”

Bad pointed at the counter behind him with his spoon. “Try not to throw ice at the table, Skeppy.”

“Ooh! Something cold today, eh?”

George turned to Bad in surprise. “How do you have ice?” he asked, genuinely confused. “It’s in the middle of summer. There’s no way to get any ice.”

Bad grinned mischievously at him. In some ways, it resembled Skeppy’s trademark troublemaker smirk. That was not a good thing. Not in a million lifetimes. “That’s a secret, you little muffin.”

“OH MY GOD, _ice-cream_!” Skeppy raised a metal box as if he were sacrificing it to the gods. “I haven’t had this since ten years ago. Why didn’t you make this sooner?”

“Because today’s a special day,” Bad reasoned. “We finally got to talk to our friends after so long without anyone getting hurt. It calls for celebration.”

George casted a glance at the others. Sapnap’s lips curled when they realized that he was mentioning the Herobrine incident. It was no surprise that Sapnap would react like this—he was literally killed and forcibly brought back to life.

Skeppy frowned, dropping himself next to Sapnap as he scooped large portions of ice-cream into an empty plate. The top layer was pink and the bottom layer was blue. “But you didn’t give Mega and the others any ice-cream.”

“I did. I just didn’t tell you.”

WHAT!”

“Come on, Skeppy. It’s not fair that you get to have more ice-cream than everyone else.”

Skeppy’s face burned. “That’s not—you—Bad, I live with you. If anyone deserves ice-cream, it’s me. I have to put up with all your muffininess.”

Dream glanced over to the open box. There was a faint mist emitting from the glazed metal, without any water. It was freshly taken out from ice somewhere—but where?

“Let me try that.” Dream stabbed his spoon into Skeppy’s ice-cream and dug out a large chunk before he could protest. He stuffed it into his mouth and instantly cringed, regretting his decisions and apologizing to all of his ancestors. He slammed his spoon on the wooden plate started cursing like a sailor. “What the fuck? My head hurts from that shit!”

Bad whipped to him. “Language! That was a brain freeze, Dream. You just experienced something we call a ‘brain freeze’. It happens when you eat too much cold things at once, but I don’t think you’ve ever tried it before.” He stretched his shoulders and began clearing up the plates. “Only eat small bits at once. Don’t try and rush it. It’s like baking muffins but cold.”

Of course, he would all people would compare brain pain to muffins.

The ice-cream was nice, though. It was first time Dream, George and Sapnap ever tried it, which led to George and Sapnap at each other’s throats seeing who could ingest the most ice-cream without getting a brain freeze. Spoiler alert: Dream won; even if he didn’t partake in their nonsense in the first place.

During the night, Dream and Sapnap shared a bed while George took one for himself. He spent the night sandwiching his head between the pillow because his stupid friends were trying to kick each other off the bed when they slept and kept fighting over the blanket. At some point, George’s eyes snapped open to a thud, only to realize that Sapnap managed to sleep with half his body dangling off the bed. Dream was tangled in the sheets like he was trying to wrestle Technoblade into the ground. How they were still alive, he didn’t know. He really didn’t.

After three hours of Sapnap snoring, George shot upwards, clutching his blankets with his hair in a mess. His eye twitched as ne glowered at his unsuspecting tormentors, having prepared to smother those two with their pillow. (Why was one leaking feathers? Maybe Bad missed it or he didn’t have any extra.) Even with all those terrifying intentions, he calmed himself and put on his goggles, deciding that sleeping in the same room with them was a hazard to his health and sanity.

Yawning and running a hand through his bed hair, he headed downstairs for a cup of water, blinking his drowsiness away. If he’s awake now, he might as well go do some basic exercises outside—why were the lamps still burning? He only realized it when fresh water gushed down his throat. His eyes glanced over to the living room, where there were papers strewn across the floor with various scriptures on them. Two figures sat across each other, reading a book each.

George rubbed his eyes. “Why are you people still awake?” he slurred, dragging himself over. He wrapped himself tighter in the blankets. “What are you reading? Must be interesting.”

Bad and Skeppy turned to him simultaneously, blinking as they realize that he has yet to sleep.

“Is there something wrong with the room?” Bad asked worriedly, closing his book.

George shook his head, sniffling. “No; it’s perfect,” he admitted. “But what are you two doing up so late? The moon’s still high.” He glanced out the nearest window and noted that it was early morning. There should be _hours_ before sunrise came. “Are these good books?”

Skeppy grunted and sunk deeper into his blankets, evolving into a bigger hermit than he was before. “No,” he crabbed. “They’re fucking terrible.” He flipped to the next page and continued anyway.

“Language, Skeppy.” Bad told him off, but they were calmer compared during the day. If they had an argument now, they would wake up the entire village and be hunted down with pitch forks. Some folks really enjoyed and cherished their beauty sleep. He waved the book, showing him the cover. George didn’t understand the letters on the black leather. “It’s a novel. About Satanists.”

“Oh.” George blinked. He didn’t expect that. “Are Satanists all that interesting?”

Bad hummed as he searched for his last read page. “No.”

“Why’d you read it then?”

“Because I felt like it.” Bad gave him a smile. “It’s late, George. You should go to bed. You can sleep in my room if that makes you feel better – I know how loud Dream and Sapnap’s snores are. I can go get earplugs for you or you can take my room. I’ll just sleep in Skeppy’s.”

If Skeppy heard what he was suggesting, he didn’t comment on it. They knew each other for a long time, right? It was like how Dream and Sapnap are childhood friends and they weren’t shy of showing affection or flirt with each other or when they drag George into their mess. It’s just two homies chilling in a bed, no feet apart because they’re bros and platonic…

“Um, well,” George stammered, uncomfortable that he was potentially troubling Bad and Skeppy for something so minor, “there’s no need, really. I’m used to it. It’s just—” He sucked in a breath so deep his chest ached. “It’s just I’m not used to it anymore, you know? Sleeping in a bed, I mean. I’ve travelled for so long that it just doesn’t feel right.”

What was he saying? To Bad, he must’ve sounded crazy. Anyone who never travelled and risked their lives for years would never understand the feeling. Even if Bad and Skeppy were decent with swords themselves, they lived in the same village all their lives. They never been anywhere exciting other than the Herobrine situation, where they were literally teleported to another world against their will.

George’s cheeks colored. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, George.” Bad tilted his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Why don’t you go to my room and catch up on your sleep, hm? Me and Skeppy aren’t planning on sleeping tonight, so it’s all yours. Oh, but make sure not to open the closet right next to my desk. Don’t worry if you do, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for it to be open at night.”

George yawned, already heading to Bad’s room. It was the one with scribbles all over the door like muffins, stick figures of Skeppy and Bad, fish, and horses. “Yeah, you probably stored some curse that puts muffin crumbs in their hair whenever they curse.”

From across them, Skeppy looked up and glared daggers at George. “Whatever you do, do not encourage him.” He left to his book again, so far into his blanket that he was only a head in a mass of sheets.

“Maybe I’ll give him even more suggestions just to annoy you.”

Skeppy grumbled choice words under his breath and furiously flipped pages.

As Bad made a unsolid statement about Skeppy’s use of profanity, but never pursued it. George didn’t know they like reading before, and now he did. Maybe he’ll get a book or two for their birthday… if he knew which language they were reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for trouble, and make it double. Dream asks Bad for help and Sapnap asks for Skeppy's. By god's name, why would they think it was a good idea? They're already on the ride, so might as well strap on.

“Hey Skeppy, mind if you trained with me?” Sapnap asked, throwing an arm over the younger’s shoulder. He ignored George’s high-pitched screeching behind as he ran from Dream’s clutches. “They’re having a lover’s squabble right now and I _reallyyyy_ don’t want to be involved that shit.”

Skeppy, holding a mug of coffee, craned his head around the garden to check for the black-clad man’s presence. When he saw none, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure. I have nothing better to do anyways,” he replied simply, finishing the rest of his coffee. “Just don’t tell Bad about it. I’m sure he’ll freak out if we go too far.”

He downed the rest of his coffee and headed towards his room for a change in clothes. Sapnap decided he wasn’t going to question why Skeppy owned a duckie onesie that was two sizes too big for him. As Skeppy dragged himself upstairs yawning, he noticed a duck tail waddling at his rear.

“Hey, Skeppy.”

Skeppy stopped in his trail, breaking his yawn. “Yeah?”

“Nice tail.”

“Eat shit, snapchat.”

Sapnap waited in the living room, dozing off. Occasionally, he could hear Dream going _Ohh Geeeeorge_ and George going _NOOOOOOOOO!_ If he was anyone else, he’d start calling the police. But he wasn’t anyone else. he was part of their group, and sadly, he’s gotten used to their shenanigans over the course of the years. In fact, he was glad that George could handle Dream’s psychotic moments without him.

During his wait, Sapnap’s eyes drifted towards the mess that is the living room. Unorganized books were piled on the floor, with bloodred leather covers and stringed spines. Papers were stuffed between the books, sticking out from pages and poking from beneath the pile. He didn’t know that Skeppy and Bad were nerds. Or maybe it’s just Bad and Skeppy doesn’t care when Bad spits out random facts at there in the morning that gives him existential crisis every three seconds.

Eventually, the tan-skinned man made his way down the stairs, dressed in nothing but his classic blue hoodie and beanie, looking nothing like the sleep-derived, fursuit-clad man that he saw earlier. There was an almost-psychotic gleam in his eyes as he picked up the diamond sword from the frame by the stairs.

“We’re just doing sparring, right?” Sapnap asked.

Skeppy swung his sword in a wide arc, nearly missing a vase. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Why are you using a diamond sword? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Huh.” Skeppy set down his sword by the vase. “Is that not what sparring is? How are you supposed to get good if we, no, _I_ hold back?”

“I didn’t think attempted murder is supposed to help my skills any better.”

That being said, Skeppy agreed to use a wooden baton instead of a sword, though he was constantly complaining about the grip, the uneven weight, and the impracticality of such a non-lethal weapon during serious fights. Sapnap thought Dream was uptight when it came to team training, but that was before he met Skeppy. Even as they adjusted their positions across each other, lowering their stances, Skeppy yelled at him for his incorrect footing and smacked his head with the stick like some old sensei from the mountains.

Sapnap adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. His head stung, urging him to scratch it, but he refrained. Hands gripping the leather handle of the baton, he kept his eyes on his opponent, squinting to catch his every move.

Warm, morning air graced his tongue as he sipped air into his mouth. His body tensed, grip tightening as he waited for the first move—

Skeppy charged him before he even realized what was happening. One moment he was prepping for an attack, the next, the baton in his hand was slapped aside, parried by another. His fingers and palm burned from the heat of friction, and the wooden stick clattered meters from him, the blade cracked and splintered.

Sometimes, Sapnap forgets that Skeppy may not be human at all. He still remembered his death and resurrection, but he didn’t recall much of the battle. Dream and George caught him up and mentioned vaguely that Skeppy and Bad defeated Herobrine, but he happened to zone out when they brought up the fact that they grew wings.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

Skeppy frowned, staring at Sapnap with both concern and dissatisfaction. His eyes were caramel brown. “Are you even trying, dude?” he demanded harshly, snapping at him. “You asked me for help, you know.” He brushed splinters from his cracked baton. “You could’ve said no when you didn’t want me to.”

“What the fuck was that?” Sapnap spluttered. “I couldn’t even see you!”

Skeppy stared at him blankly. He was notorious for his unpredictable habits that involved trolling the people close to him. Whether it be his close friends like Spifey, TapL or Astelic; or housemates like Bad, it was difficult to tell when he was being serious and when he was not. This was one of his cases. Sapnap didn’t have firsthand experience of getting trolled by the elder, but he’s heard enough stories to know that it would not be a good sight.

Then, like a switch that clicked in his mind, his eyes widened as he nodded to himself, lowering his baton and turning around. “Oh… I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect this to happen either.”

Sapnap didn’t know whether if Skeppy was being honest or that he was being mocked by a grown man who sleeps in a duck suit.

“Again?” Skeppy asked, kicking Sapnap’s broken baton aside. He grabbed another one from the pile and tossed it to the younger. “I promise what happened just now won’t happen again.”

Sapnap stared at him as if he were crazy, but Skeppy hummed casually and waited for a response.

“Sure, Skepster.”

Worst decision he’s ever made in his life. If Skeppy doesn’t kill him first, he’s going to die to humiliation soon enough. Was it still too late to back out and rejoin George and Dream?

“You did not try to fight Sapnap.”

“I did, Bad. He literally asked for it.”

Bad’s arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed as he stared the other down. The more he glowered, the smaller Skeppy seemed to get, cowering under the brunet’s accusations bit by bit. “You should know better than this,” he scolded. “They have a tournament in less than a week, Skeppy. What if you’re the reason he can’t do his best?”

From the kitchen, Dream and George set bags of ice onto Sapnap’s bruises.

“I can just heal him.”

“Oh, no. We had this conversation before, and I’m not going through it the second time.”

Skeppy groused, sensing his defeat. It had been his fault to begin with, and he couldn’t worm his way out of this one. For someone who’s built upon the suffering of others, Bad was the exact opposite of what he stood for. _At the very least, his hospitality only extends to the people he sees as friends._

* * *

_“Are we best friends, Darryl?”_

* * *

“Hey, Bad,” Dream called, tapping the shorter man on the shoulder. It was odd how Skeppy and Bad were both shorter than Dream and Sapnap—with Sapnap being the tallest and George the shortest—as they both were the most mysterious pair out of all of their friends combined. Their true lives were something more hidden than the origin of Vurb’s fetish.

Bad turned from mixing cake batter and blinked at the blond in surprise. “Yeah?” He set his bowl down to the counter. If this was their dessert later and if Bad made sweets like these every day, they would be obese before the MCC even came. “Do you need anything?”

Dream nodded. “Is there a possibility that you know ice magic?” he asked. “Or do you know someone that knows it?”

The brunet tilted his head, seemingly confused by the sudden interest in such ability. Before he could ask, Dream continued, and he’s never seen the man so flustered before.

“I want to learn that magic,” Dream stammered, his face flushing red. Without his mask and cocky smile, he looked just like every other person who was putting their pride aside to seek for help. He’s always been prideful and protective of his confidence. “The MCCs are coming up and learning magic would really give us an edge.”

Bad stared at him, waiting for the troll to drop, but there was none. Dream’s blush had spread from his cheeks and to his ears and neck. By goodness, he was _serious_. The Dream who would rather die than ask anyone for help was asking for his. It was for such a trivial task, too, but Bad never turned anyone down before.

“Is that all?” Bad asked cautiously. “Just for the Championships? You want to learn magic for that tournament?”

Two pairs of green eyes met each other, but it was evident who was in control of the situation. Bad’s eyes were a toxic shade of green while Dream’s was bright emerald.

“Yes,” Dream forced out, voice tight. “That’s all.” He coughed into his hand. “So do you know it or—?”

“For goodness’ sake, Dream. I’m not going to teach you _ice_ magic.”

Dream looked to his boots, shame coloring his face. “I see—”

A hand was clamped around Dream’s shoulders. The blond looked up in shock to see the other grinning triumphantly, showing a pair of pearly whites that looked a tad bit too sharp to be the norm. As he stared into Bad’s excited eyes, he realized that he might share Sapnap’s fate.

“I’m going to teach you _actual_ magic!” Bad declared. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s begin!”

Was it too late to say no? When it came to Bad, maybe it is. He should’ve stayed in his room and continued irritating George and smacking Sapnap’s bruises.

“You can’t be serious.” Skeppy’s voice boomed from the kitchen door. “You are _not_ teaching him some stupid magic.”

Bad shot him a look. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn,” he vamped. “I think it’s courageous of Dream to want to know more. There’s nothing wrong with curiosity.”

Skeppy glared. “Curiosity killed the cat!”

“And satisfaction brought it back. Have you not been reading up? I thought we went over this for the past few years or so…” He turned to the unfinished batter. “Skeppy, can you pour this in a pan and put it in the oven? Remember to take it out after a candle’s fire— _hour_? Yes. An hour.”

With that said, the brunet took him by the wrist, and dragged the man outside, acting a bit too enthusiastic for Dream’s comfort. He could only pray that he doesn’t end up like Sapnap.

No—he hadn’t turned out like his friend, because it was so much worse.

“This is a simple step.” Bad held up a book to Dream’s face. There were nothing but words upon words with no description. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were in English—Dream used to be a writer, after all—but they were in the same gibberish that only Bad and Skeppy could read. “See the first paragraph?” When he was met with no response, he turned to his friend in confusion.

“I don’t understand anything,” Dream admitted. “What language _is_ this?”

Bad pursed his lip, turning the book back to himself. “Hm,” he hummed. “This is Latin. I assumed everyone knew this because you understood Herobrine.”

“He was speaking English.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Ancient beings have the unique ability to adapt to any languages. Let’s see how we should do this without the book.” He closed the book and tucked it into his jacket. “Okay! First and foremost, magic is the basic component of certain living beings due to the Notch-Herobrine war that happened a century ago. Humans harnessed magic to enchant their tools and armor. Let’s see if you can actually _do_ magic.”

For the next few hours, Dream would experience what he would describe as one of the few lowest poinst in his life.

Bad taught him how to regulate said magic in his body, how to channel them from various sources, using magi to destroy or heal and various other tasks, but Dream failed every single one of them. When Bad set a hay dummy on fire with nothing but his thoughts, Dream couldn’t even light a candle if his life depended on it. it didn’t help that Bad merely sat there with his legs crossed, eyes staring at the blond as he waited for something to happen. By taught, he meant _teaching you the theory part and letting you embarrass yourself in the practical session_.

Unlike Skeppy, Bad didn’t push him to learn. He would teach him the basics, and let him figure out the rest on his own.

“You look positively fantastic,” George crabbed, poking Dream’s sides as the blond flopped uselessly in his bed. Sapnap was still downstairs as Bad applied medicine to his bruises. “How did that training session with Bad go? He didn’t kick your arse, did he?”

“He didn’t,” Dream groused. “I kicked my own, George.” He sat up from his bed, his mask clamped onto his face. The mask was always present whenever he was in battle, distressed, or during their card games. “I just don’t get it. I never believed in magic until… you know. It’s just—it’s just that I don’t get why magic is so difficult to learn.”

George tilted his head. “Is that so?” he asked. “Maybe you just suck, Dream. No one can be perfect. Not even you.”

Dream’s brows furrowed under his mask. “Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

“Try me, Dream. I bet I could learn it faster than you.”

“What? There’s no way, George. You can’t even beat me in screaming. I bet all the birds in the forest hate me more than you.”

George didn’t retort because he had the mightiest weapon a man could ever ask for: a pillow. He slammed the pillow into Dream’s face, who blocked in response.

Dream chortled with laughter. “George! Stop attacking me!”

“Just tell me how Bad taught you!”

“And give you a head start? You need it more than me, but there’s no way I’m letting you beat me at my own game!”

“DREAM!”

“Just say _ignis_ or something! Something about magic obeying certain wo—”

_“Ignis!”_

The pillow burst into flames.

The two idiots paused, stared at the growing fires, and only realized what happened moments after.

“No way,” Dream muttered, still too surprised to do anything about the flaming pillow.

George stared at him, also ignoring the fires. “Oh, my god.”

The door swung open. “Hey, guys, are you done flirting?” Sapnap looked up from his bruised arm and froze at the scene: George in the midst of beating Dream with a flaming pillow, and they were doing nothing but stare at the very much dangerous fires on said pillow.

Sapnap took one look, and left.

A second later, a scream could be heard from the kitchen. _“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE ROOM’S ON FIRE?”_ Whether it came from Skeppy or Bad, nobody knew.

For someone who has above average reflexes and smarts, Dream sure as hell wasn’t using his brain here. It’s a wonder that they were still in one piece and without singed hairs and buzz cuts by the end of this.

But if there was anything that came out of this, it was that George was now conveniently placed under Bad’s training instead of Dream. Sapnap invited Dream over to train with Skeppy, but he refused.

“Hey, Dream?” Skeppy said, crossing his arms. “If you want to learn a new skill for the MCC, I have just the person for you.” He sighed. “Two, in fact.”

As if the doors in this household weren’t thoroughly abused on a daily basis, the entrance doors were burst open, followed by a boisterous and an all-too familiar obnoxious voice.

“WHAT’S UP, BIG D?” Tommy boomed, grinning widely as if he’s won the lottery. Tubbo was following behind him meekly, giving Dream a small wave.

Dream glanced outside, waiting for the actual people to arrive, but there was none. It was already dark outside and there was no way anyone in the right mind would make their way to someone’s house _now_. However, Skeppy was looking at the duo, and to nobody else.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Dream deadpanned.

”No, sadly, I’m not.” Skeppy closed the doors. “They’re going to be the ones to teach you what they know, starting tomorrow.” He groaned again. “When did this place turn into a curriculum?”

Dream stared at Skeppy, then to the younger two. Tommy was grinning devilishly and Tubbo was yawning into his hand.

_This cannot be happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Buried under a pile of WIPs_ So, how's everyone doing? I'm totally not crying over blockpeople at the moment. Anyway BadBoyHalo supremacy stan this man hhrhejhjhfhshfjfhjsdkfhsdjkfhsjkfh
> 
> And imma be honest im kinda lonely- lowkey need some friends to talk to abt my plots and stuff :((


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dream Team undergoes special training... but Dream is struggling to find something he can do.

With the MCC only five days away, the Dream Team spent the majority of their days with their individual coaches mastering different skills. Sapnap with Skeppy, George with Bad, and Dream with Tubbo and Tommy. With the two teens staying over, Bad offered his room to the two, but Tommy quickly declined after he saw what was in Bad’s closet. Tubbo, on the other hand, was curious to know more. With the two friends at odds with each other, they agreed to split up. Tommy would stay with Skeppy while Tubbo would stay with Bad.

George snorted when Skeppy kicked Tommy out of his room. Tommy had tried to set the curtains on fire and Skeppy wasn’t having it.

Bad clicked his tongue as he plopped a stack of books into George’s hands. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll get along fine.” He squinted at the leather spines. “Is your stomach strong enough to handle blood sacrifices? I don’t think so.”

George and Bad, despite practicing the most questionable regimens, it seemed that the other four were the ones on the verge of eruption. Compared to the others, they were the calmer ones. Sapnap ran from Skeppy every three minutes and Tommy screamed at Dream every two.

Today was the first day of their official training, so George and Bad spent the first few hours talking.

“M’kay.” Bad sat on the grass cross-legged, putting his hands on his thighs. George mirrored him, albeit uncomfortable with the position. “The first thing you need to know about magic is that it stems not from your energy, but from emotion. That is the most basic of rules.”

They were shielded from the sun by a tree, with shattered light draping on them through the leaves. George nodded, pursing his lips, searching for a definite answer in Bad’s calm expression. There was none. Like a maze, Bad’s face was a sea of blankness, hiding no clues and giving no secrets.

George shifted his posture. “Is there more to it?” he asked. “Like, some sort of code or secret ritual.”

“No. Part of the reason why Dream failed is because he overthinks things. Magic cannot be calculated or manipulated. It is a force of nature that only responds to conviction.”

Bad laid out various books in a circle around George. They were all written in Latin, a language that George doesn’t understand. The books were open to the same page, with different diagrams and pictures, but the same content. It was fairly easy to understand even if one did not share Latin intellect: it was a scratchy drawing of a sun and moon, with a sword and a bolt of lightning.

George leaned forward to read, but he couldn’t make any sense of the paragraphs.

“Long ago, the war for control took place on Earth.”

George looked up. Bad’s eyes were closed, his hands placed between his thighs. His glasses hung by a thread on his nose, ready to fall at any given moment. He turned back to the books. The sun and moon were warring with each other, vying for control as sword clashed against magic.

“On one side, were the Order of the Sword.”

A picture of a winged sword was drawn on a book to his right.

“And on the other, were the Whispering Clan.”

A picture of a horned mask was drawn on another page to his left.

“With the introduction of Earth, they realized that there was something they wanted. Something that both of them desired to have: Power. The more humans worshipped them, the more powerful they would become. Beliefs have power, and it was a dangerous one.”

George’s head shot up to be graced by a warm breeze. The wind picked up dried leaves and danced them further into the forest. The pages on the books turned vigorously, painting a story of blood, sacrifice, and war.

“The war had a victor.”

The book at the very right snapped shut. The book next to it followed. In a spontaneous reaction, the books all closed one by one, until only the middle one remained. George stared at the final pages, eyes widening as pictures of Herobrine played on repeat—until it shut with a shocking snap, the worn leather glaring at him as if it were a warning.

George’s eyes shot upwards in surprise, to jump the second time as Bad was staring straight at him.

“But nobody knew who.”

The glasses on Bad’s nose fell as he finished his story, which he caught just before it touched the ground.

George swallowed, unnerved by the paranormal happenings. It was all too uncanny for it to be a coincidence; it was as if it were all orchestrated. He knew Bad wasn’t normal ever since the beginning—especially after he pulled Sapnap and Fundy’s souls straight from their bodies and took a bolt of lightning head on—but now, he seemed mysterious; almost tragically magical. A weary soul that’s been plagued by the horrors of knowledge shared by no other.

Bad tilted his head and smiled at George. “Since then, the residues of magic used in the war has been leaked to Earth. You’re proof of such,” he said, standing. “Since you almost set the house on fire, would you mind demonstrating it again?”

“Here?” George looked around. They were surrounded by trees, grass and other flammable objects.

“Of course, silly,” Bad chided lightheartedly. “If anything goes wrong, I can stop it.”

There was no doubt that he could. The only problem was that George didn’t even know how he’d done it. He’d argued with Dream, tried to smother him with a pillow, then… that was all. He screamed a word and the fires came. What was it? _Dignity? Minus? Mini?_

George stared at the closed books.

He turned to the tree behind him and raised his hand.

_“Ignis!”_

* * *

“And—that’s a wrap!” Skeppy declared victoriously, lording over the dark-haired arsonist with glee and pride. “Get good, snapmap. You weren’t even close to hitting me!”

Sapnap groaned, lying on the floor as he tried to catch his breath. His body wasn’t covered in bruises, but in coal dust. Per Bad’s argument, Skeppy could only use a feather duster (which by the way, does make Skeppy look less menacing by a 0.01% percent) dipped in coal. If it weren’t for Sapnap’s horrendous defeat, he would’ve laughed at Skeppy and called him his cleaning maid.

Welp, Skeppy _is_ mowing something and it’s Sapnap’s pride and will to live.

“How did you even get so skilled?” he demanded, pushing himself up. His shirt was no longer its pristine white, rather coal black. There was no ounce of space that Skeppy had left empty. Like his shirt, his face and neck faced a similar fate. Combined with his sweat, he looked like he’d taken a dip in the coal mine for hours. “Don’t you just stay in one place, farm and bake muffins with Bad?”

Skeppy crossed his arms, feather duster still in hand. Some feathers fell right from its socket and fell to toe ground. There was a feather sticking out from Sapnap’s hair that blended in.

“Are you saying I’m supposed to be trash just because I don’t go on adventures like you and Dream and George?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Why do you train if you have nothing to train for? Your lives aren’t in danger. You shouldn’t have reason to push yourself to the limit like that…”

The man’s lip pursed, his expression freezing in thought. For a second, a storm cloud drifted over his face, and Sapnap wondered if he’d stepped into a landmine that was long forgotten, but never defused. But as soon as it came, the absent look on Skeppy’s face vanished as soon as it came, and they were back to their routine.

“Are you going to lie there or do I have to kick you?” Skeppy snorted, ignoring Sapnap’s question. Perhaps it was better that way, and some things should just stay a forbidden topic. He nudged Sapnap’s sides with his foot. He wasn’t even wearing proper shoes – just bright blue crocs stained with coal. “Come on. By the time we’re done, you’re going to win that thing! Maybe you’ll even get better than Bad!”

Sapnap shot to his feet, though he was off-balance. His body ached and his joints felt as if he were running on rusted gears. After hours of training, Skeppy was barely winded, and the only time Sapnap managed to get him to break a sweat was when Sapnap called him out on his footwear, which he blushed and replied that it was his favorite pair because it made squeaky sounds that annoyed the living daylights out of his roommate BadBoyHalo.

He growled, picking up the wooden sword with trembling hands. At the very least, he hoped his friends were doing better than him, and their training did not involve their butts being kicked.

Well, at least he wasn’t Dream. That poor guy was stuck with two of the most annoying people on the entire planet.

* * *

“It’s been three hundred hours, Big D!” Tommy boomed. His arms were crossed on his sides, his chest puffed out to make himself look taller and bigger than he actually is. His form cast a shadow over the wooden table, which was littered with various materials that were labelled and compiled into various piles.

Dream glowered at the blond gremlin, gripping netherwart in one hand and an empty water bottle in another. His mask hung past his neck, the strings hanging limp like an oversized necklace. Tubbo—oh, sweet Tubbo; who is also the only reason his sanity still remains—draped a towel over his head in worry.

Tubbo frowned at his friend. “I think you’re being too mean,” he confessed, unnerved by Dream’s exhausted, crazed glare that was still fixated on the blond. “We spent years learning this stuff. Don’t you think you’re being too harsh oh Dream?”

“THAT’S NO EXCUSE FOR INCOMPETENCY. WHEN WE LEARNED THIS, WE COULD BARELY FIGHT A ZOMBIE WITH OUR HANDS TIED BEHIND OUR BACKS.”

“Come on, Tommy. This is complicated. When you first learned this, you couldn’t even tell the difference between glistening melon and regular melon. It was the simplest thing and _I’m_ the magic insensitive one.”

Dream glanced at the two piles of sliced melon. One pile was labelled ‘NON-MAGICAL MELONS’ and the other was labelled ‘MAGIC MELONS’. He was sure Tommy was the one that wrote them, because it was barely eligible and the only reason why Dream could understand was because one had two words and the other three. Or maybe one was labelled ‘NOT-EXCITING MELONS’ because it was way more Tommy-like.

“Hold up. Wait wait wait,” Dream interjected their squabble, turning to them. “There’s magic to this? And Tubbo, you’re _what_?”

The pair stared at him like he was crazy. They turned to each other, exchanging knowing glances, then back to him as if they were deciding his fate. Tubbo tilted his head, pointing at the scribbles written on the scattered papers next to Dream’s hand.

“Didn’t we write down everything down?” Tubbo asked curiously. “Everything you need to know is in there.”

Dream glanced at the stack and picked the top piece up. Their writing was comparable to cat scratches, and he knew this because he had a cat named Patches back home. Aside from the sea of scribbles and poorly misspelled words, the only thing that Dream could make out was: _Tommy is the man!_ And _BEES!_ with hearts drawn over a drawing of a trio of bees.

He swiveled back to the duo. “I can’t understand any of this.” He turned the paper around. “Do you expect anyone to?”

Tubbo lurched forward to squint at the paper. He muttered a few nonsensical words to himself, trying to figure out what the problem was, then his eyes widened as a light bulb flashed over his head. Straightening, he whipped to his blond friend with a tight expression, chuckling fearfully like he was being held at gunpoint.

“Ooh,” Tubbo said nervously, hooking his arm around Tommy’s, who belched at the sudden contact. “I see the problem. Please, Dream, give us a minute!” He dragged Tommy off to Bad’s living room and they were never to be seen again.

Dream sighed, slamming his head on the table in frustration. The ingredients and apparatus rattled on the table, creaking clinks and clangs. Why had it come to this? He was supposed to be the one learning magic, but George is the one out there training with Bad. Sapnap was training with Skeppy in the gardens—which he could see Sapnap’s constant painful defeats—and making decent progress. Sapnap was getting hit less and less now, and his reaction time was improving. They were all improving themselves and working hard for the MCC, but what was he doing?

Absolutely nothing.

When he heard footsteps from the entrance, he pushed himself up, but his body felt like it was going to implode. He’d never felt such uselessness in his life, especially surrounded by talented people who possessed skills that he couldn’t learn.

“Well.” Tubbo laced his fingers together in front of his chest, delivering the final verdict and news. “I have good news and bad news, Dream. Which would you like to hear first?”

Dream’s lip twitched. “The—”

“There’s no good news yet so I’ll just tell you the bad news,” Tubbo said. Dream grunted, slapping his own face in exasperation. Of course, he was so incompetent that he couldn’t pick up a skill that Tommy and Tubbo learnt – two teenagers and one of them could barely read. “The bad news is that you have absolutely no affinity in magic whatsoever.”

He slid into the seat that was next to Dream. Tubbo pointed at the papers he’d given him. “You see, there’s magic inscribed in the text when we wrote it. So it doesn’t matter what our handwriting looks like because ours definitely look like shit.” Tommy snorted so hard he doubled over. “The ingredients used to make potions also need magic from the maker. And since you don’t have that magic affinity—”

“I can’t make potions,” Dream concluded, dreading but expecting the answer.

“Yes, but maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Dream scowled. “I’m useless, Tubbo. I’ve tried everything. I tried to learn magic but I failed. Now I can’t even make _potions_?” His face clouded over with desperation. “There’s nothing I can do! Tubbo, just give it up!”

Tommy knocked the table with his knuckle. “Hey, hey, don’t talk to Tubbo like that!” he snapped. “You don’t just beat yourself up after what, failing two attempts? How long did you think it took me and Tubbo to learn how to brew?” He growled at the potion bottles and the vacant brewing stand. “You can’t just give up because you think you’re useless! You’re Dream. Slayer of the Mighty Ender Dragon!”

Dream ignored him. He buried his face in his forearm on the table and grabbed at his hair.

The two teens stared at him, then to each other.

“Dream,” Tubbo said eventually, tapping the adult’s shoulder. “Dream. Hey, Dream. When Skeppy asked Tommy to teach you, it wasn’t because we were the only ones available, you know.”

The dirty blond looked up, eyes puffy with tears. “What?”

“Skeppy did it for a reason.” Tommy grinned, looking proud of this achievement in life. “I, for one, was feeling generous. And now he owes me one. _And_ —”

“The point is: Skeppy and Bad had a reason for asking us to come teach you what we know.” Tubbo scratched his head. “It’s fine if you can’t make potions. It’s not the only thing in our skillset, because that wouldn’t make us good apprentices, right?” He turned to Tommy.

Tommy puffed his chest outwards. “The best!”

“We’ll find something you’ll be good at.” Tubbo put his hand on Dream’s. “Together. Hopefully. MCC’s in a few days and we’re also competing. Don’t want to distract you and get soft on the enemy team, eh?”

“Apprentices?” Dream wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand. “Who’s your master?”

Tubbo and Tommy turned to each other again. Their teamwork was uncanny; for a pair who acted as different as night and day, they seem to be on the same wavelength all the time.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Yeah, it kinda is,” Tubbo agreed.

They turned back to Dream.

“Skeppy, of course!” Tommy announced.

“BadBoyHalo, of course!” Tubbo chorused.

Dream stared at them, his brain barely processing the shock he was going through. Oh boy—that explains a bit too much, and maybe more than he was supposed to know.

“Now!” Tommy clapped his hands. The table was instantly cleared and all the ingredients were organized and back into the glass case they brought. “Let’s see what Big D is good at!”

“Maybe bees!”

“Tubbo, _no_ – that’s stupid!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Maybe he’s an animal whisperer. The world may never know.”

Dream blinked at the cleared table. This was the same feeling he got when he realized that George was magic and he wasn’t. He was a human in the world of the inhuman. Unlike them, he was normal.

* * *

“So,” Bad started, stabbing his fork into a broccoli. “How was everyone’s training today?”

Around the table, nobody responded. They were too busy groaning, leaning back on the chairs, lying on the table, or just out cold. Skeppy snorted and choked on his salad, blowing air through his nose as he slammed the table to vent his laughter.

Bad frowned. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Yeah. Snapchat managed to last a full minute this time,” Skeppy agreed.

The brunet glanced at the pyromaniac. Sapnap was out cold, his body and hair scrubbed clean of coal dust after an hour of shower. George had to wait by the door in case he passed out and drowned himself. His shirt was loaned by Skeppy, which was yellow with a massive duck face at the center, but Sapnap didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy passing out from sheer exhaustion.

Bad glared at Skeppy. “I thought I said you’re not supposed to go overboard with training.”

Skeppy waved him off and stuffed more lettuce into his face. “You did. But it was a stupid decision, so I elected to ignore it.” He waved his fork at Tommy. “Besides, healing potions exist. Right, Tommy?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Tommy snapped, grumpier than usual. He was a mess and so was Tubbo. The two looked like they were about to drop dead, despite being the trainers and not the trainees.

“Language.”

Tommy scowled at him. “ _Language_ ,” he imitated with a high pitch. He stuck his tongue out and gagged. “Look, I’m BadBoyHalo. I’m a _powerful_ demon king and my fatal weakness is _profanity_. Oh, the horror. The tragedy. God forbid if someone ever says fuck in my court.”

A slam whipped everyone’s attention to the brunet. Bad’s hand was clenched around his utensil, his fist on the table as evidence of his punch. “Language, Tommy,” he threatened, voice sickly sweet and lips smiling.

George glanced at Skeppy, who was sitting next to Bad. Bad couldn’t see him because he was focused on Tommy, but George saw the blue-clothed man cross his hands at Tommy and shaking his head to warn him from further provoking the brunet.

Tommy got the message and simmered down. “… fine,” he forced out. “Sorry… BadBoyHalo.”

Bad turned back to his dinner. Skeppy swept back and pretended to engulf his dinner. “It’s okay, Tommy. Just don’t do it again.”

George frowned. _What was that about?_ Bad lost his temper before, many times, but it was the first time that Tommy reacted so obediently.

“What about George?”

Bad turned to Skeppy. “What about him?”

Skeppy swallowed tomato slices. “How did his training go?” he clarified. “Did he at least make some progress?”

The two affiliated people froze in their seats quicker than the probability of Sapnap finding a girlfriend. George shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bad sighed and set his fork down.

“Well,” Bad started, his words trailing off before he could even name them, “it was… interesting.”

“I didn’t make any progress.” Skeppy winced, but George wasn’t done. “Apparently, magic was more complicated than I thought it was. I tried for hours and nothing worked.”

“Theory magic is easy. The application isn’t,” Tubbo agreed. “It’s really annoying to say the least.”

“How would you know?” George crabbed.

Tommy set his utensils down. “Why the f—” He stopped himself when he realized Bad’s eyes were on him, watching his language like a hawk. He swallowed. “ _Why_ is everyone doubting us? First Big D, now Gogy. We’re not stupid! Tubbo is the strongest person I know! Other than me, of course. But still.”

Skeppy cleared his throat. “Tommy, they’re just tired, and so are you. You better behave or you’re sleeping in Bad’s room tonight.”

The blond paled and sealed his mouth shut.

Seriously, was Bad’s room really that scary?


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not the first time George found himself blinking awake in the middle of the night. Mostly, it was because of Dream, who snored like a chainsaw; and Sapnap, who fell off the bed so frequently that it was a miracle his skull was still intact. He pushed himself up while removing the blanket from his body, he made his way out of their room, and closed the door behind him with a gentle creak.

Before he could even take a step downstairs, he heard voices. Unlike before, when Bad and Skeppy stayed up to read, it was rowdier this time around. In some part of the back of his head, it screamed danger, as if trying to pull him away from the noises. His instincts were against his advancement, but he was not. Like always, his curiosity weighed over his sense of dread and wariness. Sometimes, it was the thing that got he and his friends out of danger, but there were also times where his curiosity nearly killed his friends.

The floorboards were cold and sturdy. With each step he took down the stairs, he realized that the light from the living room and kitchen were just as dim from the lights upstairs. They were barely lit, and the house was empty. Apart from Dream and Sapnap upstairs, he’d noted that Bad and Skeppy’s room were empty, and the swinging and open doors were proof of such. Where were they? He could still hear the voices, but there was more gravel to it. Something more than just baseless screeching and howling like barbarians.

George looked around, but he could see no one, nor find the source of all the noise. They haven’t woken anybody up – Dream and George were heavy sleepers – since their house was remote compared to the village miles away, but he wondered what could be causing such a ruckus. Tommy and Tubbo were nowhere to be seen, either, having disappeared with their adult equivalents.

That’s when his eyes caught the glimpse of sparks from the window, refracting through the glass and catching his attention in the form of lucid gold. Cautiously, adjusting the goggles on his head, he approached the window by the entrance and peeked from the window frame.

His eyes widened as he realized where all the sounds came from. Two figures clashing against one another, far too small to be adults but too agile to be mobs. One held a sword, reflecting obsidian black as its blade bounced fire back to its opponent. The other wielded nothing, producing lightning and fire from his palms as if they were second nature.

Then there were two adults – standing behind each teen, observing the battle with crossed arms, uncaring if the magic-wielder burned the other in a sea of flames, or if the swordsman slashed the other’s arm. They stood watching, as if the battle was nothing but entertainment in the form of violence.

George’s voice died in his throat. He was groggy from sleep, but even he knew that the alarms in his bed weren’t just for show. His instincts were never just for the heck of it. They never steered him wrong. The alarms in his head was positively ringing now, humming in his ears like a ruined bell.

The black-hooded figure on the far left turned to George, as if there was a honing device installed in him. A sudden chill arose in George’s spine, spreading across his nerves and to his muscles. Fingers twitching and knees turning to jelly, he swiveled around with a stiff posture, and made his way back upstairs.

It’s only been three days since he stayed with Bad and Skeppy, but it felt like he was intruding upon years of hidden history and secrets he was not meant to know. He removed his goggles and set them on the dresser and plopped himself on his bed, grabbing the pillow and covering his head, trying to calm the tremble in his arms and feet.

He’d recognize that emerald glow anywhere. He’d seen the same glow in another pair of eyes just before hell was unleashed upon the being that was once Herobrine.

That night, he didn’t sleep either. He drowned out the voices he heard, and closed his eyes praying that he hadn’t been seen.

* * *

Compared to the two screeching idiots, Tubbo was grateful that Bad didn’t speak much when he treated his wounds. As much as he appreciated Tommy and respected Skeppy, he was exhausted, and he didn’t feel like listening to Tommy talk about drugs and women all the time. Tubbo had his arm held up in front of him, and Bad’s hands gently hovered around his bleeding wounds and cuts, a red hue dancing on his fingertips.

“You did good this turn,” Bad said with a muted voice. He didn’t like the noise either, from what it seemed. Even if Skeppy helped Tommy with his own scars and burns, there wasn’t a minute that would go by where Skeppy wouldn’t smack Tommy over the head with a stick, and in which Tommy would retaliate in louder screams and protests.

Tubbo nodded, a blush rising to his face from the compliment. “Thanks, Bad.”

Bad tilted his head and glanced at Tubbo’s head. From the tufts of hair on either side of his head, there were horns the color of blood. They were like a baby goat’s, still small and new.

“Do you feel comfortable hiding those all the time?”

Tubbo blinked. “Huh?”

“Tommy hides his wings just as easily as Skeppy hides both his halo and wings. But for us, it’s not easy hiding who we are because of the things we represent and the morals we stand for. If you’re not comfortable, I can cast an illusion spell, but it’s not a guarantee that it will hide you from others – especially George.”

Tubbo knew George was training from his teacher only a few days ago. From what he knew, George had the affinity for magic, but he was still incapable of using the slightest bit of magic.

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m used to it, actually,” Tubbo confessed. He knew better than to lie to Bad, who saw through lies and detested them like a disease. “I’m okay! I don’t need a spell to hide who I am.” He clicked his tongue. “But why George? Didn’t you say he’s not ready to learn any magic just yet? How can he see through magic that’s casted by you, of all people?”

Bad frowned at Skeppy, who glared back at him from the other side. Tommy was cursing out every profanity that humankind ever invented and so much more. Skeppy didn’t help matters, as he tried to silence Tommy with more cussing and yelling over him. He turned his attention back to his own pupil, and finished up the last bits of healing needed for Tubbo’s condition.

“He cannot see through my magic,” Bad agreed, luring more confusion from the younger. “But,” he said, digging into his bag for a water bottle and a towel, “his natural instinct is sharp enough for me to be wary about.” He poured water onto the towel and handed it to Tubbo, to wipe blood and dirt from his face and limbs.

Tubbo accepted the towel. When his fingers grazed Bad’s hand, he felt a shiver run from that finger and to his entire body. There was no malice in Bad’s posture or expression, but he’ll never get used to the magic that eternally hummed beneath his skin. His magic wasn’t anything like Tubbo’s, or even Skeppy’s. He was in another realm of his own.

“I see. So, GeorgeNotFound is a bloodhound, right?”

Bad smiled at that. “I guess so.”

“Does that mean I need to get bones for him?”

“Tubbo, please do not throw bones at George and ask him to go fetch.”

* * *

“GEORGENOTFOUND!” Tommy boomed, storming down the stairs with Tubbo hot on his tail. He came to an abrupt halt at the base, where the Dream Team was having a breakfast of chicken porridge with eggs, and George turned to him with a yawn. There were eyebags under the Brit’s eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for the entire night.

Porridge fell from George’s spoon and back into the bowl in slops. “What do you want, TommyInni—” A bone was met with his face, knocking his goggles off his head and forcing him to drop his spoon into his bowl in surprise. Howls of laughter erupted from both Dream and Sapnap,

“GO FETCH, GOGY!”

Tommy bolted back upstairs as Skeppy rose from his seat, trying to look patronizing but his face was twitching from laughter. Tubbo turned to George, to Skeppy, then to Bad (who was sighing as he cleaned the dishes), then promptly followed Tommy back upstairs.

“What—” Dream wheezed, his voice very much resembling a tea kettle. “What was _that_ about? ‘Go fetch, Gogy?’”

George rested his cheek on his palm. The bone fell to his lap. “Shut up, Dream.” He poked at his spoon, which had completely submerged in the porridge, handle and all. He was already exhausted and now he’d lost all appetite.

Bad sighed as he finished up the rest of the dishes. “I’m terribly sorry about Tommy,” he apologized. “I don’t know where he gets all that energy from.” He dried his hand with the checkered kitchen cloth that hung by the sink. “Do you guys want to start your training as soon as you finish breakfast, or do you want to rest up a bit?” He didn’t turn, but George felt anxiety prick up in his gut. “George?”

George jumped in his own skin, cold sweat gushing down his back. He felt weak in his hands. “Yeah, Bad?”

There was a soft silence between them, where it was occupied by Bad putting the dishes away into the cupboards and gently telling off Sapnap for talking with his mouth open. Nobody noticed this pause in conversation, as if Bad was giving George the chance to recover himself.

“Do you want to take off training today?” Bad asked kindly. “You don’t look too well. There’s only three days until the MCC is here and learning magic while you’re tired is more damaging than anything. Did you not sleep well last night?”

George felt like his stomach’s just been punctured by a nail. “Well, um.” God, he was terrible at coming up with excuses and whatnot. This is dumb. He’s dumb. “Sapnap snores.” He wiped the sweat from his palm with his shirt. “And Dream falls off the bed a lot.” When the two turned to him with confused stares, he noticed what was wrong in his statement. “What I mean is—”

Bad wasn’t even listening to his excuse, which was ringing alarm bells. Bad always spared an ear to listen, no matter how stupid the topic or how long it would take. Bad’s gaze landed past his shoulder, and straight to the very same window that George looked out last night.

“I really need to change those glass panes,” Bad hummed casually. “They’re falling apart. Sometimes lights refract oddly during nighttime. You were saying, George?” He turned back to George, tilting his head with a gentle smile. The same smile that he always had, no matter who he was talking to. It was what made Bad himself – the ability to keep a positive face up, even if he were to face the most unreasonable of people.

But somehow George could only see the tens and thousands of poison behind him, like a brilliant bloomed rose amongst a sea of thorns. A rose so red that it rivalled the brightest of rubies, so red that its petals could be mistaken as drops of blood, fluttering in a winter storm.

He wasn’t the only one that saw how wrong this all was, right? He whipped to Dream, who didn’t share the same paranoia with George. He was bashing his fried egg into his porridge without a care in the world. Then Sapnap, who was usually sharp and instinctual, down his porridge as if it were soup. George hoped he choked on a piece of chicken. Skeppy— _of course_ —wasn’t even paying attention. He lives with Bad and if he knew what was happening, he wouldn’t still be here trolling Bad with fake muffin batter.

Is he the only one that’s seeing this? Or was he just too paranoid? He very well could’ve been hallucinating last night. Perhaps his lack of sleep happened to catch up to him at that very moment. Maybe they were different people and not who he thought they were. Or maybe they were only roasting marshmallows outside and the younger two decided to get violent with chocolate and torches. After all, in the short moment they’d come down to mess with George, Tommy and Tubbo seemed fine. There were no injuries on their bodies, despite what he saw last night…

“It’s nothing,” George said quickly, without skipping a beat. “Maybe I do need some sleep.”

Bad nodded. “Tell me if there’s anything wrong, alright?”

There’s nothing wrong. It should be that way. Bad was just Bad, harmless and kind and patient as always. Nothing was out of place. The world still spun and minutes still ticked down like usual.

But why couldn’t George bring himself to meet Bad’s green eyes?

**Fallen, Chapter 1**

_Blinded by the lightning, George could only scream for his friend. Somewhere, through his ringing ears, he could hear the others doing the same. Every hair on George’s body stood on their ends, static crawling through every bit of hair and clothes he had. Nothing mattered. Nothing did. The only thing he could think of was his friend’s fate, now that he joined so many others—_

_He felt a worryingly warm hand clamp around his wrist instead, yanking him towards his friends. George screamed again._

_“Calm down!” Bad’s voice snapped, more irritated than dead. “Everything’s okay. Just listen to me.”_


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the tournament has arrived. Before this, George tried to spend as much time as he can with Bad—in spite of his primal fear—to learn as many spells as he can; Skeppy stopped treating Sapnap like a punching bag and taught him more maneuvers; and Dream—

Well, there’s not much to say about the blond. Despite Tubbo and Tommy’s best efforts, they couldn’t find a skill that was applicable to the adult. After potion brewing, they tried enchanting, voice modifying, repairing equipment, basic animal communication, and even how to roll your tongue. Spoiler alert: Dream failed all of the above, and he cannot roll his tongue, despite Tubbo’s best intentions to physically clamp his tongue with a plier. Tommy had to restrain him before he did anything drastic, ironically.

Because of Dream’s lack of any magic affinity, Enchanting was put off the table because he wasn’t capable of learning the inscriptions. Even if they tried roughly translating the carvings to English, the enchantment itself still required one’s ability to harness the magic around them and concentrate it into the weapon, armor or tool. No matter how smart Dream was and how many languages he can grasp in days, it didn’t matter because he can’t conjure a fireball for shit.

Voice modifying requires a special talent, of which Dream didn’t have. He may be able to wheeze like a kettle, but he couldn’t change the nature of his voice even if he tried. Unlike Tubbo, who had an impeccable voice range like Bad, Dream would always sound like a basic white girl who’s addicted to a voice changer. He was a great singer, but sadly, not a voice actor.

Repairing equipment was a blacksmith’s job, and he was no blacksmith. He destroyed at least three iron pieces, if that were possible. He learned after sloppily patching up an iron chestplate that enchanting and repairs are correlated, so even if he learned how to repair armor (which he is visibly struggling with at the given moment) he wouldn’t be able to combine enchanted books with anything. The books were only useful in the hands of someone like George.

The tongue rolling? That was self-explanatory. The gist is that Tubbo thought it would be funny if the three of them could roll their tongues, but they found out that Dream couldn’t. Tubbo was not convinced that he was physically incapable of such a feature, and decided to force it onto his tongue with pliers he stole from Bad. They thought George was the struggling one, as he was both left-handed and colorblind. Turns out Dream was the one missing out on life because he can’t do a simple tongue roll.

In summary, Dream wasn’t feeling the slightest bit motivated at the night before the tournament. He didn’t get a wink of sleep, despite George and Sapnap out cold in the same room.

“Bad, you’re coming with us?” George asked, curious. “Are you going to stay in an inn nearby?”

Bad shrugged. He sipped his coffee whilst shoving the last of his hoodies into his bag. “I promised Phil that we’re looking after Tubbo and Tommy.” He drank more coffee. “Phil’s busy with Wilbur’s concert, I think. Somewhere outside the country.” Bad frowned, looking at his ceiling like he just remembered something important. “Techno’s in the tournament too, but I guess there’s a reason why Phil didn’t ask him to take care of them. I doubt Techno would tolerate Tommy for even thirty seconds.”

George didn’t disagree. Spending a few days with the teen in the same house and dining table was enough to drive him insane. He can’t imagine living with him in a tight space for more than three minutes. If he ever were to, there’d better be an asylum nearby and good healthcare. He wondered if Philza ever had a bank account just to pay for medical bills for people who were traumatized by his sons.

“Yeah, that’s understandable.” The Brit turned to the entrance, where it was livelier. Sapnap was dragging the last of his luggage to the door, whilst arguing away with his now former mentor. With the days of their stay coming to an end, their relationship as teachers and student followed suit. Still, the two yipped at each other like puppies for milk.

Bad shook his head at the two. “At least you’re not as rowdy as them, George,” he muttered. “Tubbo will be fine, but when he’s Tommy, he takes a turn for the worst. Well, whatever makes him happy.”

Behind them, Tommy fell down the stairs. A loud crash echoed in the air. A split second later, Tubbo followed suit, yelping, and landed flat on his friend’s belly. Bad ignored all of this, but George winced at it.

“I’m okay!” Tubbo called. Tommy was not. The blond groaned and cursed under his breath.

“Is everyone ready to leave?” Bad looked around. Skeppy and Sapnap were still arguing at the doorway. Tubbo was helping Tommy to his feet. Looking around some more, he frowned, noting that they were missing a familiar ceramic-wearing man. “Where’s Dream? George, did you see him anywhere?”

George shook his head. “He was gone before I woke up.”

Bad turned to the two teens. Tommy was munching on morning toast he snagged off the table. Tubbo was snacking on apple slices. “What happened to Dream’s training? Did everything go alright?” His tone took on a layer of concern for the blond. Other than Sapnap, he knew Dream the longest and understood him better than anyone else. For him to fail so many consecutive skills that the teens mastered with ease, it must’ve wounded his pride to some extent.

“He fu—I mean, he screwed everything up,” Tommy snipped, taking his curse back as soon as Bad narrowed his eyes. “We tried everything, and I mean everything. Tubbo even tried plucking off his tongue to motivate him!”

George and Bad whipped to the older in disbelief. Tubbo shook his hands, his face burning red at the accusation. Bad sighed. _You’ve got to me kidding._ “We have to leave in thirty minutes at most. Your registration has a deadline at noon.” He fumbled with his sleeves. Despite the hot weather, Bad only sported a long-sleeved wardrobe. “Where could Dream go? Is he upstairs, maybe?”

Sapnap turned to him, one hand covering an ear to drown out Skeppy’s rants. “Why are you so worried, Bad?” he asked. “You’re more worried than we are. Dream’s probably fine, don’t worry.” Sapnap crossed his arms. “He’ll show up in no time. Just ask George to ask someone else out and you’ll see how quickly he turns up.”

Bad didn’t look convinced. “It’s not like Dream to disappear out of nowhere.” George turned to him, his eyebrow raised in skepticism. Sapnap scoffed at the speculation. Bad sighed. It’s a lie and he knows it. Dream has a habit to disappear out of nowhere. It’s 100% like Dream to leave without so much of a word or note. This happened a billion times even before Dream slayed the ender dragon and George realized he was colorblind.

Skeppy scowled. “What the hell? Can we just find him and get this over with?” he snapped, irritated from waiting. “Don’t you have a spell that could track him down? Do some magic. Magic makes our life so much easier.”

Bad ignored him. “Tubbo, Tommy, can you check upstairs, please?” The two teens mocked a salute and raced upstairs, unleashing a hell of a storm on the stairs itself. Bad headed towards the exit, shooting a look at Skeppy. “I’ll go look outside. Maybe he went on a walk and fell asleep.” He opened the door and left, shutting the door behind him, leaving the living room with the three adults.

As soon as Bad stepped out of the house, George breathed a sigh of relief and slumped onto the couch, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, and he was lighter than air without the burden weighing him down. His tense body relaxed, his lungs aching like he’d been holding a breath for days too long. He hadn’t realized how uptight he was until Bad was out of his sight.

Since that night, George hadn’t been able to look at the brunet the same way. Before, he saw Bad as a harmless person who just happened to know magic—and could turn into some otherworldly being—and a stern mother-like friend. Now, all he could see was how dangerous the man actually was, and all the horrible things he could do with the knife he used to cut up apple slices for everyone during their night. It didn’t help that when they shared a campfire outside one night and Skeppy accidentally set Bad’s hoodie on fire, reminding George of that same night. He vaguely remembered that he came back to his senses when Sapnap poured a bucket of water on him.

George shuddered. He wasn’t convinced that what he saw was a mere fever dream.

The door to the exit swung open. “I found him!” Bad declared, holding Dream’s wrist as he pulled him into the house. He held up his backpack and ushered the rest of them out of the house. “Come on. Me and Skeppy still need to book a room at the inn nearby.”

Skeppy made eyes at him. “Will we be sharing a bed?”

Bad glared. “No, because you’re getting kicked out.”

By the time they got off the train, they were greeted with the gate of the main city. The walls were tall and made of stone brick, the gate was spiked and guarded with soldiers wearing iron armor. There were people ushering about, most sporting regular tunics and dresses, but there was the occasional adventurer and combat gear, as they were too participants in the MCC. They were easily distinguishable, with their bright hair and clothes, like a storybook character straight out from a fairy tale. Dream, Sapnap, George, Tommy and Tubbo were all unique, and all looked completely out of place when they stood in the midst of a crowd. Compared to the others, Skeppy and Bad blended in perfectly, as they weren’t sporting anything unusual.

It didn’t take long for the five to find their idols each. Tommy nearly deafened Tubbo with his scream when he caught sight of a familiar blue shirt and dark skin, with clean shaven hair and an enchanted sword strapped to his back. Vikkstar, a veteran of the community, and one of the most influential figures in another continent. Tommy clung to Tubbo’s shirt like a fangirl, eyes widened and glued onto his role model.

Tubbo’s eyes were transfixed on a red cape, visors and a clean-shaven man. Captain Sparklez, his childhood hero, was here and competing in the same tournament as him! Tubbo can’t wait to get his autograph—granted the man himself can get past his squealing fangirls and fanboys as he walked through town. Tubbo wanted to grab a book and quill and squeeze through the crowd and let the Captain sign his forehead, but the man was already walking away, trying to escape his fangirls.

Dream was staring at Technoblade (of which both Tommy and Tubbo didn’t notice their brother); George was frozen in place as Ninja passed by them (he didn’t even live in this country! Why is he here?); and Sapnap ogled at Karl, who was a part of the biggest sponsor and figures in the MCC, the MrBeast crew.

Skeppy stared at their staring friends, frowning.

“Skeppy, look!” Bad pulled at Skeppy’s sleeve. He pointed to a pair of familiar figures. “Look, it’s Antfrost and Sam!”

He turned to where his friend was pointing. His eyes widened as he recognized their silhouettes, even if it was from a distance. They haven’t seen each other in a long time ever since their faction broke up after the Great War. From time to time, he would find himself wondering what the two were up to, since they had no more reason to fight. They were safe – and that was all he could ever ask for.

“Sam, Ant!” Bad cried, running towards them. The two whipped to him in surprise, their faces equally morphing from shock to recognition to happiness. They stopped in their tracks and turned to the brunet, sporting wide smiles each.

Ant grinned and nudged Bad’s elbow. “What’re you doing here?” he asked excitedly. He noticed Skeppy, who was walking here instead of running, and waved wildly at him. “What are you _two_ doing here? Have you finally decided to start fighting again?”

“Goodness, no!” Bad said. “We’re only here to take care of our students and support our friends.” Bad noticed the weapons strapped to their waist and shoulders. “Are you taking part in the MCC? That’s great! I’ll make sure to cheer lots for the both of you.”

“What if we’re going to have to fight your students?” Sam sneered, winking at Skeppy who finally arrived in their little circle. “We’re not going to have any mercy, just so you know.” He clicked his tongue at Skeppy. “Dude, you look like you’ve been farming potatoes all day, and not in a good way, if you know what I mean. It’s like getting sent down to earth as a human again and the only thing you can do is eat potatoes until the day you die. God, I fucking hate potatoes.”

Bad shot him a look but didn’t chide him out too much. He knew what that punishment was. Beside him, Skeppy and Sam shuddered in the memory of the _punishment_. It was when an angel was caught breaking a rule—no matter how light or severe—which would result in a harsh outcome of the angel temporarily reduced to mortal for one lifetime, which was essentially the time period of a full century. Bad never liked that system, but it’s not his place to speak up.

All these years—how long has it been? Twenty? Thirty years, perhaps?—and they still didn’t change one bit. Ant still smelled faintly of cat and Sam smelled like gunpowder. Their weapons were a netherite sword and a diamond axe each, just like the ones they used when they fought side by side. Those blades have seen the end and destruction of many, but they haven’t been used much, as of recent. Bad could tell from the luminescent of its surface.

Bad smiled softly. No matter how things change, some things never will.

“Well,” Bad spoke up, albeit wistfully, “it’s great seeing you two again.” He put his hands on each of their shoulders. Like his own, he could feel two distinct energies and magic course in their bodies, similar to his and Skeppy’s but not quite. They were similar but in a different sense. “I believe you’ll do great during this MCC.”

Sam scoffed. “Great?” he repeated, aghast. “We’re winning this, Bad. Don’t get your hopes up for your students. Kid or not, we’re going to kick their butts.” He leaned to the right, noting the odd group standing in a place and conversing within themselves. His eyes widened. “Holy Notch, is that the _Dream Team_ —”

After getting autographs from the three, Bad handed the book and quill back to Sam, who stuffed the book in his backpack so quick that Bad could barely see the tridents he stuffed in there. Sam was buzzing with excitement and glee, clutching onto his backpack as if it were his treasure. Ant shook his head and sighed at his partner’s behavior. Skeppy stared at Sam, his expression asking him, _are you serious? I didn’t save your tiny ass a million times just for you to fangirl over fanboys._ The cycle of fame and power was mysterious, indeed.

“I can’t wait to fight them!” Sam cried, voice shaking. “But I kinda don’t want to. What if I beat them so hard they hate me? What if they kick my ass and they laugh at me in front of hundreds, no, _millions_ of people—” He swallowed, pausing his words as he contemplated the worst outcome of them all. “What if Dream hates orange juice?”

Bad, Skeppy and Ant turned to him. Bad coughed into his fist. “Um, well, Sam, you see—”

As it turned out, Dream is a firm believer that apple juice was far more superior than orange juice. A hope was shattered this day.

Bad and Skeppy bid farewell to their friends as well as their former partners, leaving back to their current group they needed to look after. Ant and Sam waved after them, but they quickly disappeared into the city to report for their positions in the MCC. Skeppy held onto the back of Tommy’s shirt like a leash as they headed towards their own registration, and Bad had to check on Tubbo every three seconds to make sure he didn’t run off after his idol.

The registration site was a simple stall in front of the humungous arena, built like a roman coliseum. The stall was small, but the line was long. From the line alone, Bad could see many different and unique faces, of all which he found familiar but did not recognize. Tubbo pointed out and introduced everyone to Bad as if they were Pokémon characters. There was Fundy, TapL, Spifey, Jack Manifold, Vurb, Astelic, Duckio, the Shulkercraft Duo, Purpled, Wallibear, Mega, Zelk, Captain Puffy, Technoblade, Vikkstar, Captain Sparklez, Ninja, and many more. By the time they managed to reach the front of the line, it was already late noon, despite arriving at 9 in the morning.

Bad and Skeppy barely managed to book an inn nearby, as many had gathered here to be present for the MCC. If it weren’t for Dream showing up at the counter and asking the employee himself, Bad and Skeppy never would have gotten a room and might have to camp outside. Tommy and Tubbo were to stay in the dorms in the MCC, so they couldn’t be there all the time. For the time being, Tommy and Tubbo have been entrusted to their brother, Technoblade, who was visibly unhappy with the new responsibility. But if he didn’t, Philza would have his hide.

Though, thanks to their close relations with various people (Ant, Sam, the Dream Team, Tubbo, Tommy, Vurb, Spifey, Mega, Zelk, Astelic—you get the point. They know a lot of people.) Bad and Skeppy also secured a front row seat near the contestants themselves. Though, Bad’s not sure why Skeppy would be delighted by such news, and the only thing he could think of was that Skeppy got to throw popcorn into Spifey’s hair. Overall, Bad was glad that it all went smoothly.

Tubbo and the others were to report at the arena, so they were separated from Bad and Skeppy. They waited it out in their inn, but realized that there was nothing to do and decided to go out to the city and explore. After all, it’s not everyday that they could go into town and have fun. They were usually stuck somewhere else teaching their students or fulfilling their responsibilities.

While looking for a place to eat, Bad casted a side glance at the coliseum, the building that casted an entire shadow onto the town and the area around it.

Bad frowned, and he noticed that Skeppy was too.

 _Something’s not right here_.

_“Hey, Zak, this flower reminds me of you.”_

_Darryl smiled as he pointed at the hyacinths growing in the park._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyacinths, huh? 👁👄👁💅
> 
> Wonder what that means...
> 
> P/S: I'm so lonely. ._. I have a lot of online friends that I love to screw around with, but all of them are from America and New Zealand and wherever. I'm genuinely surprised at the amount of Americans I've been meeting throughout my short time in this fandom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE ASS UPDATE, I HAD NO MOTIVAITON FHDJSKAHFFGS

Dream _hated_ crowded spaces. Now, as he glanced at his friends, who were shying away from the majority of the bar’s customers, he was certain they felt the same. They were used to living in wide spaces without another living being in sight, where their only company was each other and the occasional rabbit or dog. Even if they arrived in towns and Capitals, they never stayed for long. Two candle flames’ worth of time was more than enough noise for a solid month.

They were all restless from the day’s journey. Tomorrow would be one of the biggest tournaments in their lives; in _many_ people’s lives. That’s why no matter where Dream looked, he could see contestants littering the bar for a quick drink to calm their nerves, even catching familiar faces he’d seen on posters and headlines of papers. He wouldn’t think this place was usually so crowded, even if it were the only place that sold alcohol in the Capital. It was what would be happening the day after that brought business.

“ _Haloiemia_ ,” George read the gold letters hanging on the walls, illuminated by torch flames. It was the name of the place it seems. His nose scrunched up. “How do people come up with these fancy names?”

Sapnap took a swig of water. Despite his personality, he wasn’t the type to drink. George, however, had already finished four mugs of the stuff. “When being an alcoholic is part of your job description, people tend to get creative.” Dream couldn’t tell whether if that was an insult or a mere observation. “Like how tonight’s special is called _Skunk Juice_.” George spat a spray of green.

Dream tuned his friends out as Sapnap and George started jabbing at each other, the next comment deadlier than the last. It was getting late, and they would need all the energy they could muster if they wanted to give their best tomorrow. Sapnap and George have improved so much in the span of a week, but…

He sighed and brought his glass of water to his lips. They were growing stronger, learning new things and being the better version of themselves under their friends’ guidance. Bad and Skeppy were wonderful teachers, even if the latter was a tad short tempered. Sapnap’s reflexes were visibly enhanced, especially how he managed to catch three bowls in mid air without so much as breaking a sweat. George could somehow decipher bits and pieces of enchantment from swords; he wasn’t fluent in the slightest, but he only just started.

Compared to them, Dream was going nowhere. To avert his negativity, he directed his attention somewhere else. He needed to be in tip top shape, and he can’t afford to distract himself with things he can’t control. That’s when he saw the assortment of competition around the bar: colorful armor and eccentric weapons strapped to waists and backs, and hair with different colors of the rainbow. Loud voices and giddy tones hawked at his ears like a spear’s sharpened point. As realization occurred to him, the ugly truth started to form in the fogs of his mind:

 _He was normal_.

He wasn’t like anyone else. They were unique, and they had the powers to match it. He saw Hannah sitting with her friends; she was an adventurer who possessed the ability to control roses, and she’d used that power to protect Capitals from bandit raids. From the windows, he noted Purpled with Astelic and Gamer; he was only a teen but his swordsmanship was well-known throughout the world. (Why was he even in a bar?) Shifting towards the counter, he recognized a pair of friends: Antfrost and Sam; notorious for their skillful use of both machinery and magic.

Everyone in this contest had something to bring to the table. But he was nothing but human. A regular, magic-less and talentless man. George and Sapnap were surpassing him day by day, whilst he still tried to chase them with a metal chain tied around his ankle. They would soon overtake him and be the strongest they could ever be – and then what? He would be a liability. He would be weighing them down and doing more harm than good.

At first, Dream was certain they would win this tournament. He believed that they were unmatched; as they’ve overcome hardships and emerged stronger than ever. He hadn’t accounted for the fact that everybody else were the main characters of their own story just like them, some more tragic than others. Put the main characters together, there’s always bound to be someone ending up in the sidelines. That person was him.

He clenched his fists under the table, a wavering glare pointed to his shaking hands. He was having second thoughts about this whole thing.

Crawling on the bed with a pout, Skeppy poked Bad’s cheek. His finger sunk into his skin, pushing his entire head to the right as the angel tried to get his friend’s attention. No avail. Tommy, who mirrored his mentor’s behavior, crouched by his friend and jabbed at Tubbo’s neck.

“Skeppy,” Bad warned, eyes still closed. “I told you to not disturb us when we’re meditating.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo agreed, leaning away from Tommy without opening his eyes. “And you stink, Tommy.”

“Hey!” Tommy threw his arms up. “I just took a bath!” Frowning, he took an experimental sniff at his armpits, nose scrunching. “Do I really stink?”

Skeppy gagged at his mentee and left Bad alone. Walking past the two beds with large strides, he snagged the back of Tommy’s collar and forcibly dragged him outside. “Come on, child.” He ignored Tommy flailing behind him. “We’re going on a walk.” He shut the door and left the demons alone.

With difficulty, Tommy freed himself from Skeppy’s grasp and adjusted his shirt. Skeppy put his hands in his jacket’s pockets and stared at the blond. Tommy was his student and hundreds of years younger than him, but Skeppy found himself looking up to meet Tommy’s eyes. He cursed under his breath and muttered something about getting Bad to do height-enhancing spells.

“You still haven’t told me why we’re not doing this meditating shit.” Tommy crossed his arms. “Not that I want to do it – it’s boring and generally a waste of my time. But how come Bad and Tubbo does it and we don’t?”

Skeppy blinked at him, gesturing to the exit of the inn with his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Tommy groaned, following the older’s lead. They walked past doors that were either closed shut or wide open with drunken heroes. “You know,” he snipped, picking his words with caution. “We’re different from them, and shit. They’re, like, the embodiment of darkness and all things unholy. How come they meditate and we don’t?”

Skeppy ducked as a flaming arrow flew by his head. “Ooh.” He brushed his bushy hair with his hand to check for any scorches. There were none. “Because it’s stupid, that’s why.”

“… what?”

His mentor turned to him incredulously. “What? You think we’re following mortal stereotypes? Angels can kill and demons can heal. Demons can mourn and angels can relinquish in others’ pain. We’re not as simple-minded or one-sided as humans depict us to be.” His voice turned hard, like he was approaching a touchy subject. “They see what they want and they make judgements based on appearances alone. Don’t forget that, Tommy.”

A simple sentence spoke more than an entire lecture. It sounded far more personal than any teachings that Tommy’s ever received. He knew when to keep quiet and listen, and this was it. Chewing his lip, he nodded listlessly, letting the words replay in his mind like a broken record, repeating over, and over, until the static became too much. It was as if Skeppy had ripped a piece out of his own crippled soul and shoved it in the teen’s face to teach him what would become of him if he strayed.

“So,” Skeppy hummed, changing the topic as if turning books, “how do you feel about some last-minute revision?”

Tommy grimaced. He should’ve known. Between the two, Bad was more of a slave driver than his mentor. He’d seen that first-handedly after Tubbo returned from training with his veins glowing green from spells, the shivering in his arms making it impossible for him to change or even hold a spoon to eat. Skeppy was lax, compared to Bad, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a diligent teacher. Tommy wasn’t keen on running a dozen laps around the entire Capital without a shirt.

“I’m kidding.” Skeppy pushed him out of the inn’s first floor and into the crowded street. They were headed to the nearest casino to place bets on victors, all holding some form of cash or valuables. They ignored the crowd and forged their own path. “You deserve your rest tonight. As a treat, I’ll let you get anything you want, provided that it’s something _Bad_ would approve of.”

The teen frowned at him. “Why Bad? Don’t you get to judge something with your own morals?”

Skeppy shrugged. “I think we both know the answer to that.” Tommy grumbled agreement. Some things were better left to his mentor’s codependent, like baking brownies and sewing torn capes. “Come on. They’ll be done meditating in a few hours, and they’ll start turning our room into a lab if we’re not back fast enough. Look, there’s those animal plushies that every human kid likes. Do you want me to get you a cow?”

“No, shut up.” Tommy’s face burned. He hated how Skeppy could push his buttons. “I’m forty-six. I don’t need some stupid toy that mortal children hug in bed.”

They got the plush.

On their way back, Skeppy wouldn’t stop grinning at his protégé, while the teen avoided eye contact, burying the most of his face into the plush to hide the burning red sensation tingling in his cheeks. He was holding two plushies – a flowered cow and a fluffy bee. He’d chosen it for Tubbo and Skeppy allowed him to get it after he told him it reminded him of the younger demon. Skeppy’s wallet bled, but he shoved it in his pocket and braced himself to ask for more allowance from Bad.

“Quit staring.”

“Aw, look at you!” Skeppy giggled, reaching up to ruffle Tommy’s hair. Tommy had to bend down, his bangs hanging from his forehead. “You’re finally acting your damn age!”

Tommy protested and shook his hand off, but Skeppy wasn’t demotivated in the slightest. He let them continue walking in peace, the inn coming into sight.

A group of black-suited individuals walked by them, just like everybody else. But Skeppy found his head spinning backwards as if he were being pulled by invisible threads, his attention drawn to them as his noise started to itch. When he turned, stopping in his path, he stared at their disappearing silhouettes, taken aback by a familiar whiff of the past.

“Skeppy?”

Skeppy whipped back to the blond. Tommy was waiting for him, a look of confusion on his face. Shaking his head and wiping his nose, he caught up to his student, and they returned to the inn for their night’s rest.

Dream was brought back to reality when his table clattered violently, shaking their utensils and causing his cup to spill. It rolled across the wooden surface, and he caught it just before it fell off and shattered. Taken aback, he looked up to his friends, only to see Sapnap standing from his seat, posture tense with clenched fists. George was trying to diffuse the situation, but Dream didn’t know what it was about.

“ _I_ spilled your drink? I was sitting down! I’m not paying for your fucking refill!” Sapnap barked, slamming the table. The bar’s chatter died down, and all eyes were on them.

“You spilled it, you spilled it! I saw it with my own two eyes!” The two men behind the round-bottomed ringleader nodded harmoniously, then glowering at Sapnap.

Sapnap clenched his teeth. “I. Did. Not.”

George put his hand on Sapnap’s shoulder and pulled him back. “It’s not worth it, Sap. Just sit down.”

Sapnap shook his friend’s hand off and scowled at his accuser. “You better fuck right _off_ , or I’ll fight you right here and _now_.” He bared his teeth like a feral animal, ready to lash out as soon as his leash was cut. And it was hanging by loose threads.

The man, who was looking in his forties’ and dressed in a well-ironed suit, grinned. He examined the table of three with judgmental eyes, as if they were nothing more than dirt. “Not from around here, I presume?” he hollered, chest puffing out. “That explains why you lot don’t know who I am.”

“I don’t give a fuck about who you are,” Sapnap spat. “We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way. Easy way is you apologize and leave us alone, or we can take this outside and I’ll _teach_ you how.”

Dream’s head shot between the two as if he were watching a ball in a tennis match. Compared to Sapnap, the man was feeble and looked like he hadn’t lifted a weight for decades. If things got violent, Sapnap would win at a grotesque cost. They didn’t need the dirt on their names; not now, not ever.

“Sapnap,” Dream said firmly, standing up. “Stand down.” He shot a glare at the man, clearly displeased at the riot. “We have a tournament tomorrow. You shouldn’t be wasting your time getting hung up on petty matters.”

Sapnap growled, whipping to Dream with an incredulous expression. Dream shot him down with another patronizing stare, which was what brought the man into submission. Things were finally calming down, and Dream could get some well-needed rest. However, they turned back to the situation, as laughter and gasps echoed throughout the bar.

The obese man arched his back, covering his face as he howled in laughter. Smoke emitted from his lips, a burning cigarette now clipped between his two fingers. One of his lackeys were holding a lit lighter, unphased by the pollution.

“You boys are in the tournament?” He giggled childishly. “That’s fucking rich!” He took a big breath of his cigar, leaning forward and blowing smoke in Sapnap’s face. Sapnap snarled and pushed him backwards, hand colliding with gelatin-like flesh and sending him to the floor. The people behind the fallen man screeched and stumbled out of their tables.

Sapnap tensed. He didn’t even use that much force. The lackeys scrambled to help their leader up, the leader’s hat and glasses falling off his oily head.

“You pushed me!” he shrieked, thrashing his limbs as he threw a tantrum. “You pushed me, YOU PUSHED ME!”

Sapnap froze, but he quickly reached a hand out for the man to take. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you over—”

“You pushed me on purpose!” the man wailed. One of the lackeys stepped forward, slapping Sapnap’s hand aside as if it were garbage. “You want to be in the tournament? You want to be a hero? I won’t let you, I won’t!”

All sympathy was retracted from Sapnap’s being as he stared down at the man. “Yeah?” he scorned. “And how are you going to do that?”

Without a word, one of the lackeys presented them a familiar badge from the man’s pocket.

Color drained from Sapnap’s face.


End file.
